


Madness

by Sed



Series: Revelation [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Three years after Damar's return to Cardassia, and on the eve of Bajor's entry into the Federation, nothing seems certain anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I don't start posting a story until it's completed, however, I don't think I'll ever get my ass in gear and finish this if I don't have a sword dangling over me. So I'm posting the first chapter, which has been complete for some time. Just don't expect the same chapter-every-few-days schedule as the previous fics.
> 
> For any new readers, this story is part 6 in a series. It will not make a great deal of sense if you haven't read the previous fics.

Kira had assured him that his springtime stay in Bajor’s capital would be far more comfortable than his winter visits had been. She had described for him a verdant scene complete with warm, sunny days and air perfumed by scores of blooming flowers. She had _promised_ he would enjoy himself.

Damar was standing on the balcony of his temporary quarters in Shakaar’s residence. The small space, easily as opulent as the much larger interior through the arched doorway at his back, overlooked a magnificent garden. Trees and shrubs were indeed budding, some already covered in colorful blossoms that gave off a fragrant scent. The ground below was carpeted in creeping mosses and small, delicate flowers that gave the appearance of a handwoven lace when viewed from a distance. It was breathtakingly beautiful—at least, that had been his experience during the day; the evening had brought much cooler temperatures, making his time on the balcony far less enjoyable than when the sun was shining down on his back. The fragile blossoms had gone with the daylight, and all that remained was the scent of wet earth from a brief shower earlier in the afternoon. It was a smell Damar wasn’t particularly fond of after his stint on Moren Kael’s farm. His memories associated it with discomfort and pain, and he grimaced as another breeze lifted the air from the garden.

“I would think it was too cold for you out here,” he heard a barely-familiar voice say.

He turned around to find the Trill standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back and a benign smile on her face. She had been his prisoner once, and despite their few (brief) encounters aboard Deep Space Nine since his return to office on Cardassia, he still found it difficult to feel comfortable around her. It had taken something of an act of will just to look her in the eye the first time.

She, along with Kira and Doctor Bashir, was his guest for the evening. Shakaar had been invited as well, given that it was _his_ home they were in, and Damar had hoped he would attend the informal gathering if only to help take the focus off himself. Unfortunately the Bajoran First Minister had declined. Urgent matters of state, he had claimed. Damar was almost certain if he walked to the other side of the building and knocked on Shakaar’s door he would find the man sitting comfortably in a chair, reading an agricultural report or some other meaningless drivel. Assuming the Bajoran deputies even allowed him to approach the door, let alone enter.

Lieutenant Dax and Doctor Bashir— _Ezri and Julian_ , they had repeatedly insisted—had come to Bajor only a few days prior to help begin the process of merging the Bajoran and Federation medical archives. As the doctor had explained at _great_ length, the intent was to simplify Bajor’s upcoming entrance into the Federation. A process which was moving ahead at a considerable pace, now that all other obstacles had been dealt with. It was also work which just so happened to coincide with whatever official business brought Kira to the capital at the same time as Damar’s third annual summit with Cardassia’s trade partners. Somehow, through no design of his own, he had been roped into hosting all three of them for dinner. Alone, Kira’s presence would have made for a wonderful evening. But for some reason Damar still couldn’t fathom, she had insisted that they include both the doctor and his girlfriend as well.

Ezri’s expectant gaze peering up at him pulled Damar from his wandering thoughts. “I think I’m beginning to grow accustomed to the cold,” he lied, turning back to the garden below.

She shot him a lopsided frown and moved over to join him at the balcony wall. “You’re not, but I understand why you’d want me to think that.”

He didn’t ask her why, assuming she would tell him if she wished to.

“I’m sure this evening probably isn’t what you wanted,” she continued.

That caught his attention. Damar half-turned to regard her with a glance, only to find she was busy staring up at the stars overhead. At least the clouds had cleared enough to allow that much beauty in the cold evening. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

From the corner of his eye he could see her lift her small shoulders in a shrug. “Well, you two hardly get to see each other as it is. I bet when you found out she was coming to Bajor during your visit, you thought that meant you would get to be alone together.”

It was true: Kira seldom had the opportunity to leave the station anymore, and his own responsibilities on Cardassia made it difficult to find time to see her. Although Kren had taken well to serving as his right hand—a rather ironic post, all things considered, and one that had elevated him from a mere head of security—it was Damar the people looked to for leadership, not his temporary replacement. Perhaps one day Kren would step in and take over as Cardassia’s supreme leader, but for now, with Cardassia’s economic future still uncertain and her people facing bewildering changes at every turn, what they needed was stability. His presence provided that.

It also meant that his relationship with Kira was conducted largely over subspace. “I’m beginning to grow accustomed to that, too,” he said quietly.

Ezri’s silence was no answer, but Damar was certain that somehow she knew he was lying yet again.

In the light cast off by one of Bajor’s more prominent moons, he caught the glitter of her left hand in the darkness. An ornate golden band topped with a single colorless stone. He had seen it earlier in the evening, when she and ... _Julian_ first arrived. He really did not like calling the doctor by his given name.

She must have seen him looking, because she lifted her hand and said, “Oh. This. It’s a human marriage tradition. I would have been fine without it, but it makes Julian happy.”

Nodding, Damar said, “Bajorans have a similar custom.”

“Bracelets, right? Believe me, I have firsthand experience with that. Or… maybe it’s secondhand, now? Anyway, remind me one of these days to tell you a funny story about Bareil and Jadzia.” She stopped to take a breath. “Did you know I had to practically hold Ben’s hand when he finally made the decision to ask Jennifer to marry him? Of course—” She stopped, sighing at herself. “Of course,” she continued more slowly, “I keep forgetting Curzon did all of that.”

Damar merely waited for her to continue, sure that any attempt to interrupt—or even make sense of her rambling—would only further confuse the situation.

“I’m not sure Julian really understands that he’s marrying eight different people,” she added after a moment, “but he says he does, so…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk about me.”

Was _that_ why Kira had insisted on bringing them along? Damar’s hard-learned inclination toward suspicion reared its head with perhaps more force than was necessary, and he quickly asked, “And just what _are_ we here to talk about?”

“Oh—just, anything,” Ezri said, nearly stumbling over the words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like a counseling session. Habit,” she added, nodding sheepishly.

Damar’s shoulders went slack and he hung his head for just a moment. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I guess it’s a weird situation for everyone, isn’t it? Here I am trying to be friendly with you for Kira’s sake—not to say that I _wouldn’t_ want to be your friend anyway, I mean, you _did_ save my life once. I suppose if you needed a reason to be friends with someone that’s a pretty good one! By the way, did I ever thank you for that?”

Caught up in the dizzying whirlpool of Ezri’s shifting thoughts, Damar could barely find something solid to hold onto. He closed his eyes and gently shook his head. “I—no, I don’t believe you did. But it really isn’t necessary.”

“Well, I think it is. So thank you. And you’ll never get any thanks from Worf, so I might as well say it for both of us.” She had turned toward him, now leaning against the wall of the balcony on one hip. “For whatever reasons you did it, which I’m sure you’ll argue invalidates that you did it at all, you made an important choice that day. Although,” she paused to look away and smile as she tilted her head to one side. “Maybe it’s a little selfish of me to say that.” She looked up at him again. “And I know it’s one of the reasons Kira likes you so much. That you do things like that.”

He took a moment to consider which part of that scenario she might mean: his act of rebellion, or the ensuing self-doubt that had prevented him from feeling any sense of accomplishment for it.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” she said after a brief silence. Not waiting for him to answer, she asked, “You’re not happy with how things are between you two, are you?”

Her guess had hit closer to the mark than he anticipated, and Damar tried not to let his surprise show. He turned away and looked off to a dark corner of the balcony. “What would make you think that?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? You two have been through a lot, and now that you’re finally, well… settled, I suppose, you’re still no closer than you were before. You’re _closer_ , maybe, but not… not able to be with each other. You can’t even be a couple outside of this room, can you?”

She was right, of course; although a handful of people already knew of their relationship, were it to become common knowledge, it could potentially destroy his credibility as a leader. To say nothing of the stigma that would follow Kira through the ranks of her career in the Bajoran Militia, assuming it even weathered the scandal. Shakaar would undoubtedly attempt to protect her, but even so, how far could his hand reach to shield her from the judgment of her peers? A Cardassian and a Bajoran, together—a former member of the Bajoran Resistance and a career soldier from the Cardassian military? They couldn’t be together. Not in any real sense. Their time with one another was spent behind closed doors, hidden away by necessity. Something they were forced to discuss in code, lest someone discover it and use it against them, as Garak had done. As any number of his enemies might do if they were aware of the true extent of their feelings for each other. Certainly someone had an idea by now—they had hardly been discreet in the beginning, after all. But lacking solid evidence, for the moment it was no more than rumor. Rumors, he had discovered in his time as Cardassia’s leader, were simply a matter of course for his position. He had already been the subject of a number of them, some harmless, and others… Well, suffice it to say that he hadn’t given much thought to the height of his collars before his return to power, but it had become a popular topic of discussion since.

The very nature of his relationship with Kira meant that it had to remain hidden. He hated it, and he felt trapped by the walls that defined who they could be around one another, and at what times.

And yet…

“You want more,” Ezri said, adding to her previous comments, and unknowingly finishing Damar’s own thoughts for him.

Yes, he wanted more. Despite the strict code of conduct that governed their romance, he hoped for a day when he and Kira could become something more. Something he might not have dared to wish for in the beginning. But it had been nearly three years since that first tentative kiss, and he was starting to wonder…

Damar reached into his pocket and clenched his fist around its contents. “It’s difficult,” he began, stopping only to think of how best to phrase his next words.

But Ezri picked up on the pause and jumped in before he could continue. “Sometimes we have an idea of what we want, and we build it up so much in our minds—we’re so focused on that one idea that what we don’t realize there are other possibilities. That maybe we don’t _need_ more.” She stopped to roll her eyes. “I’m not making a lot of sense, am I? What I’m trying to say it that, while I’m sure every minute you get to spend with her is great, right now, is more really what the two of you need? You both have so much riding on your shoulders as it is.” She stopped to cross her arms and shiver. Even a Trill must feel the cold, Damar realized. They were no more immune to it than most races. “I don’t doubt that it would make you both happy. I’m with her every day, and even though she tries to hide it, I know she thinks about you all the time. But I think even you would probably admit it’s something of a miracle that you two have made it this far, given everything that’s happened.”

Another fair point. He was starting to see why Captain Sisko had asked her to serve as the station’s counselor. “You believe I should be satisfied with what I have,” he said.

“I think you’re both strong enough to carry on for now without trying to make something out of it that might not be possible. Not yet, anyway. I’m only worried that if you _do_ try, and it doesn’t work out, then… what you’ve both managed to gain might be lost. You’re in a difficult situation, and I don’t envy you. It isn’t easy to know what you should do.”

She was silent after that, leaving Damar to digest her words. Despite her youth, she was remarkably observant, and her candor put him strangely at ease. Under any other circumstances he might have found it offensive. This young woman was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to him. But she was Kira’s friend, and she seemed to care. Perhaps she simply didn’t fully grasp what it was he really wanted. It had taken him some time to discover it for himself, after all.

“I think perhaps you’re right,” he said after a moment.

“Really? I mean—I’m glad you think so.” He watched her stand a bit taller. “I know you didn’t ask to be psychoanalyzed by someone like me, so… I just don’t want to see Kira hurt. Or you, of course. Maybe we aren’t friends _yet_ , but—”

“Lieutenant.”

“Ezri,” she corrected.

“Ezri.” Damar turned to face her. “Thank you for the advice.”

She smiled up at him. “Anytime.”

Their conversation apparently concluded, an awkward silence quickly took its place, and Ezri seemed to feel it even more acutely than Damar. She nodded a few times and rocked on her heels. “Well, I guess… we should go back inside?”

“I’ll follow shortly,” Damar said.

She nodded and returned to the main room to rejoin the others, leaving Damar to the evening chill and the unpleasant smell of the earth. His hand was still in his pocket, clenched tight around the object now digging into the softer skin of his palm. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he pulled it out and set it on the flat of the wall, spread out link-by-link. The individual segments of the ornate gold bracelet glittered in the moonlight.

With a frown, he reached out and brushed the bracelet from the balcony wall, discarding it into the garden below.

  
*

  
She loved the way he felt. The way he held his body over hers, every muscle pulled taut as he moved in her. He complained about the cold, but beneath her hands his skin felt hot, and she could see the sweat on his brow. He watched her, his eyes dark and intense, as though he was determined to memorize each and every detail; the way her mouth fell slack and her eyelids fluttered shut with each long, languid thrust. With her arm wrapped around his back, and the other hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, she could feel him flex and shift in her arms—arching his back to drive deeper. She let him know what it did to her with a moan, and she felt him smile against her neck.

When it was over he sagged breathlessly atop her, and Kira held him. She stroked the back of his neck and massaged his shoulder blades. His shuddered breath against her skin was all at once affirming and arousing, making her skin prickle with excitement, and Kira couldn’t help the pang of desire that struck low in her belly. Her fingers “slipped” and brushed a neck ridge, and she felt him twitch reflexively. The rush of warm air stopped as his lips caressed the soft skin below her ear.

It wasn’t enough. Meeting a few times a year, secreting themselves away in rooms and pretending to be old friends—it wasn’t enough for her.

“I need more,” she said.

Damar chuckled breathlessly. “You’ll have to give me some time, but I’m certain I can accommodate you.”

Despite his protests, when he shifted and rolled onto his back beside her, she could see that he was still hard, though he made an obvious effort to avoid accidentally touching himself or brushing against anything.

Kira let her longing take control. Without warning she swept herself up from the bed and sat herself astride his waist. Her hand was on him before he could object, and he only sputtered a wordless complaint. She held him in place and slipped over him, seating herself atop his slick length even as his hips bucked and he reached for her waist to pull her up again. “Kira!” he gasped. “You know—you know I can’t—”

But she knew that he _could_. She knew him, knew his body, the same way he had come to know hers. Taking hold of his wrists, she lifted his arms up over his head and pinned them there. She held him in place beneath her, and a combination of exhaustion and his own body—forever weakened by a poison that had wracked him years before—left him unable to do much about it. All he could do was writhe and whine beneath her as she rolled her own hips in a slow, torturous loop, stimulating his overtaxed nerves and making him push at the bed with his heels, dragging them back and forth across the mattress while he bit his lip and peered up at her through pleading eyes. She could hear her name, barely a whisper; the curses she almost couldn’t make out, and the worshipful way he breathed the word, “ _Yes,_ ” as a long, drawn-out hiss.

When his bucking started to match her movements, rather than simply responding to them, she let his wrists go. Damar took hold of her hips and pulled her down while he drove up, growling through his clenched teeth. Then without a word he sat up, throwing her back onto the bed as he grasped her thighs and buried himself deeper inside her. Kira held tight to the edge of the bed, but each thrust pushed her a little more, and soon she was reaching for him, grasping at his arms. Damar didn’t seem to care; he had been driven so far that he was all need, all raw desire as he slammed his hips against hers.

“You wanted more,” he said. His throat sounded hoarse and dry. “I’ll give you more.” With a dark smile he dragged her closer to him and bent his head low. Still moving quickly he held one of her legs up with one hand and grasped her backside with the other, now pinning _her_ in place beneath him. He didn’t last long after that, and past all the sounds of him straining under his second orgasm, the effort it took him to expend so much of himself in one go, Kira could hear him gasping for breath. He pulled in each one like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water.

When he collapsed this time—truly collapsed—atop her, she held him tight. Not stroking his skin, not massaging his tired muscles, but simply holding him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear.

Damar lifted his head as much as he could and peered at her curiously. “Why?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”

With a small laugh he let his head drop down onto her shoulder again. “I’ll survive.”

Instead of a reply, she gently nudged his shoulder to urge him off her. His weight was beginning to make it difficult to breathe.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’ll survive,” she repeated playfully as he rolled back onto his side of the bed. It put his head at roughly the same position as hers, and his tousled hair hung over the edge of the mattress. Kira turned to look at it. “You need a haircut,” she said.

“I’ve been growing it out.”

“On purpose?”

The look he gave her was one of pure offense. “Yes, why do you ask like that? Is it really so bad?” He lifted one bare arm to self-consciously run a hand through his hair.

When she turned on her side and reached for him he frowned up at her. Her fingers traced a few strands, barely visible in the low light. “Going gray,” she muttered.

“Now you’re just being rude.”

“No, you have gray hair,” Kira insisted. “Look.” She pinched a few strands and attempted to pull them down in front of his face. Damar swatted her hand away and his frown deepened.

“This isn’t the sort of conversation I’d hoped for,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in months, and you’re obsessing over insignificant flaws. Most women would think me distinguished,” he added quietly, huffing out an indignant sigh as he looked up at the ceiling.

Kira leaned down to silence his angry rambling with a gentle kiss. “You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t be so critical. And I do think you look very distinguished.”

Damar frowned again. “You’re a terrible liar.”

She sat up and reached for her robe, which had been discarded on the floor beside the bed. “A handsome man like you, I’m surprised no one on Cardassia has asked why you never remarried,” she continued to tease. “Isn’t it strange for a man of your age and position to be without a wife?” she asked idly as she slipped one arm into the sheer purple sleeve.

The thought of Cardassian gossip circuits teeming with speculation about Damar’s love life amused her much more than she expected; smiling at the idea of concerned citizens suggesting eligible mates for their beloved leader, she turned back to find Damar staring intently at nothing, his mouth pressed shut in a hard, flat line.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Kira shook her head. “I know that look, that’s not _nothing_. What aren’t you telling me?”

She knelt on the edge of the bed and stared down at him, but he carefully avoided meeting her eyes. Finally she crawled across the bed and planted her hands on either side of his head. After a moment Damar cleared his throat and said, “There _has_ been some… talk.”

“Talk?”

“You’re right. It is unusual that I haven’t remarried. Some people have wondered why, and there has been a suggestion that it would help to stabilize my position if I…”

“If you _what?_ ” Kira demanded.

“If I _‘settled down,’_ as Kren has repeatedly put it.”

Kira made a disgusted sound and moved away to sit back against the ornate headboard, instead. “I like Kren, but sometimes I wonder if he isn’t trying to come between us.”

Still lying at the end of the bed, Damar raised his hands and let them drop dramatically to the mattress again. “He _is_ trying to come between us, Kira. I’ve told you this several times. Your refusal to believe me doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Kren’s only worried about your reputation,” she said, waving her hand and dismissing his concerns. “And anyway, how would marrying stabilize your position more than it already is? Cardassia is better off now than it has been since the start of the war. You’ve managed to ally yourselves with everyone from the Federation to Ferenginar.”

“Because I disappeared once already,” he said. “Rooting myself to Cardassian soil with a family would show the people that I am committed to carrying out my duty to the very end.”

The end. Kira found herself wondering exactly what the terms of his leadership were, anyway. It wasn’t as if anything had been clearly defined when he’d returned. The haste and secrecy hadn’t allowed for it. “And when does it end, Damar?” she asked.

He sat up, and she expected that he would move closer to reassure her, or say something that would assuage her frustration, but he didn’t. “Three years ago,” he began slowly, “you convinced me that _my_ life, _my_ wants, were irrelevant. It wasn’t about me, you said. You called me a coward for wanting to have something for myself when I had a duty to my people—to the entire Alpha Quadrant. Now you want to know when I’ll have time to live the way _I_ wish?”

It did sound outrageously selfish, she realized with no small amount of chagrin. Watching Damar’s hurt stare from the corner of her eye, she suddenly softened, slumping her shoulders and sighing out all the indignity that was building inside. “You’re right,” she said. “It isn’t fair to ask that of you. I think I’m just—” She stopped and shook her head. "Forget I said anything."

Only then did Damar finally move himself closer to her, encircling her shoulders with one arm. “It’s not forever, Kira,” he promised quietly. “I have no wish to die at my desk, old and gray.” He paused. “Perhaps _grayer_.”

“It’s only a few strands,” Kira said. She shifted down just enough to rest her head against him.

“For now. Will you still be so anxious to spend time with me when I have more?”

 _Of course,_ she nearly said, but something stopped her. She had taken so long to catch up, needed so much time. After all that, she wondered if he could believe that she cared for him as much as she did now.

Instead of answering, Kira fell back to a more comfortable place. Somewhere she knew she could protect herself and still retain control over the situation. “Oh, Damar,” she said, forcing herself to chuckle playfully as she leaned into his shoulder. “Who says I’m anxious now?”

  
*

  
Kira was gone the next morning when Damar woke. Her absence caused him little surprise, but no small amount of disappointment. He rolled back over and punched at the too-soft pillow beneath his head to make it more firm.

They had discussed this; she had come to Bajor for more than just their forbidden tryst, and he knew that. He understood that she couldn’t allow herself to be seen leaving his quarters in the morning, alone, and wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before. Someone would see. People would talk. Before long, rumors would start to become more than mere speculation, and even without hard evidence the truth would emerge to ruin them both.

Intimate mornings simply weren’t possible.

The door chimed in the main room, and Damar yanked the pillow from under his head and buried his face beneath it with an angry groan. “ _Go away,_ ” he called, but whoever it was couldn’t hear his muffled shout. The chime rang again, and this time he hauled himself out of the bed and stormed into the adjoining chamber. He slapped his palm against the access panel and the door slid open.

“Good mor— _by the Prophets!_ ” Shakaar exclaimed, his line of sight quickly going from Damar’s naked body up to the arched ceiling above. “ _Why_ do you insist on testing me like this?” he asked his gods.

“What is it?” Damar snapped. He was in no mood for Shakaar’s cynicism so early in the morning. Not after the cold greeting he had received from his empty bed.

“I’d prefer to have this conversation when we’re both clothed,” Shakaar said, still looking up.

With an angry huff, Damar turned and stomped back across the suite to retrieve a pair of pants and a shirt. His bare feet slapped against the stone floor both to and from. “There,” he growled. “I assume you have suitably composed yourself to deliver whatever urgent news brings you to my door at this hour.”

Shakaar rolled his eyes. “And here I thought Nerys had a foul temper in the morning.” Still standing halfway through the open door, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold bracelet, caked in dried dirt and tangled with dead foliage. “I went to a great deal of effort to obtain this for you when you asked me to,” he said, frowning down at Damar. “And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that doing so _without_ my adjutant discovering what I was up to was no easy task, either. The least you could do is not throw it around so carelessly.”

It was at that moment that one of Shakaar’s household staff passed by, and nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of Bajor’s first minister holding out a betrothal bracelet to the leader of the Cardassian Union.

When the young man had gone, Shakaar shoved Damar into the room and shut the door. “Listen, far be it for me to question an already bad idea, but don’t you think you should get this over with?”

Damar took the bracelet from Shakaar’s hand and tossed it onto the low table between two chairs. “I don’t need it anymore,” he said sullenly.

Shakaar shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Why does it seem as if I spend most of my time helping to fix _your_ relationship with _my_ ex-girlfriend?” he asked. “I’ve made no secret of how I feel about this ... _thing_ you’ve planned, and it would bring me no small amount of joy to see you two come to your senses before the whole thing blows up in your faces, but I’m no fool. You haven’t simply changed your mind.”

The replicator on the wall had been programmed to prepare the least offensive cup of Cardassian tea it could manage after Damar’s first visit, and he retrieved one before he bothered to acknowledge—let alone answer—Shakaar’s acerbic commentary about Damar’s personal life. “I have,” was all he said, blowing air over the top of the hot cup as he sat down in one of the chairs.

“Liar,” Shakaar sneered.

“Thank you for returning the bracelet,” Damar said coolly. “I will be sure to find a more appropriate place for it next time. Or perhaps I’ll simply bury it deeper.”

Shakaar hefted his shoulders and slapped his hands against his sides as he attempted to bore through Damar’s skull with a frustrated glare. “What is it that’s stopped you?” he asked, dispensing with any attempt at approaching the subject gently. Not that he had placed a great deal of emphasis on tact up to that point. “If you’re afraid she’ll reject you—”

“I am not _afraid,_ ” Damar snapped, glowering up at Shakaar over the rim of his teacup.

“Really? Prove it.”

“Are you _daring me_ to ask Kira to marry me?” Damar asked incredulously.

Shakaar took the other seat across from Damar, hunkering down in it like some enormous creature attempting to draw itself into an ill-fitting space. “For reasons completely unknown even to me, I am trying to convince you that you should do something you have wanted almost as long as I’ve known you. You’re in love with her, Damar, and she shares your feelings. I’ll never understand it, but then again I’ve stopped trying to make sense of anything when it comes to you two.”

Damar snorted at the mere suggestion as he looked away. He couldn’t discuss Kira’s feelings for him and meet Shakaar’s eyes. It was humiliating, but that aspect of it was something he had learned to live with.

“Laugh, but it’s true,” Shakaar said. “It is the strangest thing I’ve ever witnessed, and I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. You can’t even bring yourselves to call each other by name, and yet there it is.”

“She does _not_ love me, she’s said so herself,” Damar corrected.

“Nerys may not love you openly, the way you’d like, but she does love you.”

“And just how can you be so sure?”

The look Shakaar was giving him suddenly changed, and what Damar could see there made him furious; Shakaar _pitied_ him. He pitied him for not understanding whatever it was he believed he could see in their relationship that Damar himself couldn’t.

Still fixing him with a condescending frown, Shakaar said, “Because she is _with you._ ”

Damar sunk down in his chair. He set the cup aside without ever having taken a sip. “Platitudes,” he muttered.

“Not platitudes. Truth. Nerys may be a woman of wildly shifting passions, but never with her heart. All the evidence is there if you just look for it. How long have you two been at this? Two, three years?” Shakaar asked, pausing only long enough for Damar to hold up three fingers. “Waiting months at a time just to see each other. Sneaking around like disobedient youths, stealing glances when you think no one is looking. Does she strike you as a particularly _patient_ woman, Damar?”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Damar swept himself out of the chair and stormed into the bedroom, throwing the back of his hand against the door panel on his way past. It hissed shut and blocked whatever objections Shakaar sent after him. He could hear a frustrated complaint from the other side of the door, and then a silence that indicated Shakaar had gone—or perhaps that he had simply chosen to reserve his criticism for a time when Damar could actually hear it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thunder cracked overhead, and Damar flinched, surprised by the angry sound. He hadn’t been minding the growing storm outside. Now, much to his dismay, it caught him embarrassingly unaware.

A long table full of representatives from Cardassia’s primary trade partners watched him shy away from the sound with bemused, half-hidden smiles. He could hear one or two quiet chuckles, and from the corner of his eye he was sure he spied a few eyes twinkling in humor at his unexpected start. He was growing tired of Bajor’s capricious weather and the frequent discomfort it caused him. The added humiliation was simply salt in an open wound.

“Are you well, Legate Damar?” one of the Romulans had the nerve to ask him. Even cloaked in an air of mild concern, it was difficult to imagine the gesture was sincere coming from one of their kind. They had come late to the table—literally and figuratively. And while the assistance they offered had been timely, it was, nevertheless, suspect. As with everything where Romulans were concerned.

“Quite,” Damar said tightly. “Thank you.”

Wasting little time with false pleasantries, one of the Bajoran representatives spoke up in the ensuing silence. “I wonder if we shouldn’t revisit the subject of interest,” he said.

Damar shook his head. “The Council of Ministers agreed to a ten year deferral.”

“Of course, but with all due respect to the ministers, with few exceptions they are not economists. Surely you understand the importance of having _someone_ educated in these matters on hand to study the facets of any arrangement, Legate.”

The subtle criticism was not lost on Damar. He narrowed his eyes at the young representative, but kept his tongue firmly behind his teeth. It was no secret what had become of Cardassia’s most venerated economic experts, and even those who might have replaced them. Every facet of their society had been forced to start from scratch after the Dominion’s purge of their intellectual class, and later, the attempted genocide of everyone who remained.

“Besides that,” the same man continued, heedless of his own tactless remark, “the original trade agreements were drafted some three years ago. You’ll pardon me for saying so, but at the time it wasn’t expected that your administration would last, much less succeed in stabilizing Cardassia’s economy. The Union has rebounded in less than half the time projected by several independently conducted analyses.”

“Indeed,” Damar said, ignoring both the insult and the ache in his jaw from grinding his teeth. “We have made significant progress—”

“Due, in no small part, to the generosity of your allies.”

“Yes. But recovery is a _process_. The blow we were dealt by the Dominion, preceded by that of the Klingons, and the economic collapse after the…” Damar hesitated, painfully aware of the risks inherent in the mere mention of the Occupation, regardless of the reasons why. He cleared his throat. “What success we have had is due in large part to the strict observance of careful economic structuring. Timetables set and plans laid by experts from nearly every government represented here today. Including your own. To upset that delicate balance would be courting disaster that might be felt deep within _every_ pocket present.”

While the Bajorans at the table hardly seemed convinced by Damar’s attempts to warn them away from demanding higher payments, the Ferengi were nearly jumping out of their chairs.

“The risk,” one of them hissed through his jagged teeth, enunciating every syllable, “is _unacceptable_.”

Damar pursed his lips to hide a smile. Reforms or no, they were still Ferengi, after all.

It was clear the Bajoran representatives were less than pleased by the turn of events, but they dropped the issue, despite several more minutes of continued frowns and mutters of discontent. In the past they may have raised a formal objection; demanded larger sums returned to their coffers and goods that couldn’t be spared regardless of the risks to the Cardassian economy, and they may have even found support in their refusal to adhere to their own contracts. But Damar had gained an important ally in his years dealing with the bureaucracy; someone whose own history of successfully leading his people through an unstable recovery made his support invaluable, and rendered Damar as close to untouchable as a Cardassian alone on Bajor could be. Shakaar would not allow the peace to be threatened by something as petty as percentages that Bajor would recoup tenfold in the long run.

A brief recess was called shortly after the matter of increased interest had been put to rest, and Damar found himself idly wandering the halls with nothing to do. He wasn’t interested in returning to his quarters, where the bracelet still lay waiting for him to acknowledge its presence and face his own cowardice. Cowardice or presumption; he hadn’t quite decided if Lieutenant Dax was correct, or if she had merely stumbled upon a truth that he refused to acknowledge. He only knew for certain that Shakaar was wrong. He hadn’t yet settled on the reason _why_ , but it was enough for the moment to firmly believe that the first minister simply did not understand the situation, regardless of how well he _thought_ he knew Damar.

A quiet but insistent voice in the back of his mind tried to remind him that Dax didn’t know him any better than Shakaar, but Damar soundly dismissed that thought because he didn’t like it.

“Legate Damar?” a voice asked from over his shoulder. Damar turned from his thoughts to acknowledge the young Bajoran woman standing behind him. She was one of Shakaar’s endless parade of aides, ostensibly part of the secretarial corps that worked under his adjutant, but Damar had never seen them do much of anything apart from menial chores. Such as fetching him.

“Yes?”

“The First Minister has requested a moment of your time,” she said, her words coming in a practiced, flat tone that Damar couldn’t help but find unsettling. He wondered if it had to do with the mundane nature of her task or something more personal. In the months following the first uneasy peace struck by Damar and Shakaar, most of his interactions with Bajorans who weren’t responsible for overseeing the financial aspects of their trade agreements had been surprisingly pleasant. When he encountered less-than-friendly Bajorans now, his first thoughts were of why they didn’t like him.

Then again, he decided, it was perhaps a bit narcissistic to assume everyone would smile and greet him warmly. He nodded to her and said, “Of course, please,” gesturing to indicate that she should lead the way.

It was a short walk to Shakaar’s office, which Damar had made enough times to know exactly where they were going from the onset of the journey. “Come in, come in,” Shakaar called, waving him over from where he sat behind his desk. He hadn’t looked up from whatever had drawn his attention on the desktop. Damar made his way over to one of the seats with a quick glance at his escort, who only bowed her head gently and stepped outside again. The door shut with a whisper behind her, leaving the two men alone.

“You wanted to see me?” Damar asked. “I don’t have very long, the conference—”

“The conference is over,” Shakaar said. He continued his deep examination of the screen before him.

Damar wasn’t sure what to say to that. At first he was only able to blink and stare curiously at his host, who _still_ hadn’t looked up at him. After a moment he found his voice again and asked, “Why would it be over, we—would you _please_ stop staring at that? Why is the conference over, Shakaar?”

Shakaar finally looked up. His mouth was set in a grim line, and he took a deep breath through his nose before leaning back in his seat and steepling his fingers. “What do you know of Lazon II?” he asked.

Damar stared at the empty space beside Shakaar’s head for a few seconds and then answered, “Very little. Why?”

“What do you know of the _labor camp_ on Lazon II?”

“Well, now I know that there is a labor camp on Lazon II. Or,” he added, “rather, that there _was_ , once. I had Kren close the camps. You know that.”

The way Shakaar stared at him made Damar suddenly question the veracity of his own claim. He waited, but the silence only grew deeper, until finally he slapped his palm against the arm of the chair and demanded, “What is going on, Shakaar?”

“This morning,” Shakaar said, his voice too weary to imagine that he’d only just begun to deal with the matter, “a Klingon patrol detected life signs on the surface of Lazon II. I’ll spare you the more unpleasant details. They recovered sixteen surviving prisoners from a camp that was, apart from the lack of any guards, still very much functional. I’m told the perimeter force field had to be disabled the usual Klingon way.”

Damar lifted an eyebrow ridge a fraction. “ _Klingon way?_ ”

“I imagine that means with explosives.”

“I don’t understand, the camps were closed.” Damar shook his head, trying to free himself of the other burdens clouding his thoughts and make sense of what he was hearing. “All remaining prisoners were granted full pardons and sent home. Kren saw to it himself.” In fact, the older Cardassian had volunteered, despite Damar’s insistence that someone else could oversee the tedious assignment. He knew little of Kren’s past, but enough to know that the man disdained the mere _idea_ of labor camps with a passion that bordered on obsessive. It was unlikely he had simply overlooked one, and he certainly wouldn’t have left one operational on purpose.

“It seems they weren’t, Damar. Sixteen prisoners may not be a very large number, but there are some rather notable names among them. Notable Bajoran names.”

Damar’s eyes slid shut and he sighed. One step forward, two steps back, as always. “Who?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Shakaar’s answer was cryptic, and didn’t sit well with Damar at all. “ _Why_ does it not matter?” he asked, fearing the worst.

As though he hadn’t yet decided if he was willing to divulge the answer or not, Shakaar took a moment to watch him, frowning and huffing quietly to himself as he did. Finally he transferred something from his screen to the padd lying beside it and handed it across the desk to Damar. “See for yourself,” he said.

It was a short list of copied Cardassian prison files and a series of brief medical workups that had clearly been composed in the field. The latter was information that shouldn’t have been made available to him under the circumstances—probably under any circumstances. _He_ knew that Cardassia was innocent of whatever accusations would no doubt be leveled at them in the coming days, and he was certain Shakaar believed it, too, but that didn’t matter. This was information he could use to his advantage. Shakaar was giving him a head start. “They’re—”

“Unresponsive, to varying degrees. The Klingons have speculated it was torture. With the exception of the last one on the list, they’re all just shy of catatonic. That last one is another complication, but, I am relieved to say, for the moment he’s one that has nothing to do with Bajor. You may recognize him.”

But Damar didn’t recognize the man at the end of the list at all, apart from the fact that he was the only human among eight Bajorans, a Bolian, and a Romulan. He didn’t really recognize any of them, but he knew that to have survived the labor camps through the Dominion’s takeover, they must have warranted special consideration. That held up to Shakaar’s claims of their notoriety, at least. As a rule, the Dominion didn’t keep prisoners unless it might somehow benefit them later.

Damar turned the padd in his hand and took a good look at the man at the bottom of the list. A terrorist and a murderer, if his sentencing information could be trusted. Dark hair and broad, proudly squared shoulders—Damar wasn’t given to making bets, but he’d have wagered all the latinum left on Ferenginar that this man had been Starfleet at some point in his life. Despite the rough treatment he’d obviously suffered during his imprisonment, the man had remained unbroken at least until he’d arrived at the camp. His piercing blue eyes stared forward defiantly, almost as if he knew he’d be the subject of scrutiny long after he’d disappeared into the bowels of the Cardassian justice system. It didn’t surprise Damar that such a man had managed to survive for eight years.

“‘ _Thomas Riker_ ,’” he read from profile. With a shrug, he set the padd back down on the edge of the desk. “I’m afraid I don’t know who he is.”

Shakaar let out a quiet grunt as he leaned forward and reached out to take back the padd. “Well,” he said, “The Federation does, and they’re very interested in getting him back. They’re also interested in why he—and the other survivors—weren’t released sooner. Consider that a friendly warning; you’re going to be answering a lot of questions in the next few days. I hope you’re able to provide the right answers.”

“I’m just as curious as they are, I assure you. Where are the prisoners now?”

“Bound for Deep Space Nine. It’s still the closest ‘neutral’ ground between here and there, and Captain Sisko has assured me that his staff are well equipped to treat them once they arrive. Should be a few days—long enough for you to gather yourself back on Cardassia, and return with a solid defense.”

Damar abruptly found himself thinking of Kira; she would be recalled back to her post on the station immediately, if she hadn’t already gone. The pang of regret that he felt over losing the chance to spend this small sliver of time with her struck him as particularly selfish, given the current circumstances. He grimaced at himself. Where were his priorities?

“We’ll get this sorted out,” Shakaar insisted, having clearly misread the look that crossed Damar’s face. “It isn’t the first storm we’ve weathered as allies.”

Damar scoffed, and made no effort to hide it. “I hope this time I can count on you to stand with me, at least.”

Shakaar leaned back in his seat with one hand braced along the back of the armrest and breathed out a huff of indignation through his nose. “It’s been two years, Damar. Let it go.”

 

*

   
Kira listened to the captain, but her attention was light years away, focused on the face of a man she’d helped condemn so long ago she had nearly forgotten it happened at all. “I’ll return to the station right away,” she replied—too quietly, she realized belatedly. Louder, she added, “I’ll be on the first transport back.”

_“I’m not sure that’s necessary, Colonel. There is only the one prisoner to debrief, after all, and given his current condition—”_

“Captain, with all due respect, it should be me. I… I helped put him there.”

She could hear it: her own voice, making a promise she’d never fulfill. Never even _try to_ , as it turned out. _“We’ll get you out of there, Tom.”_ If he’d ever believed it, she knew he would never forgive her.

The captain seemed unhappy about her determination; through the small screen his shoulders slumped some, and he adjusted himself in his seat, shifting closer. _“No one has more respect for your loyalty than I do, Colonel,”_ he began, _“but you and I both know that just isn’t true; Riker’s actions put him in that camp._ His _choices, not yours. In fact, you may be the only reason he’s still alive. Now, I grant you that eight years in a Cardassian penal colony isn’t the most ideal outcome, but it’s a damn sight better than taking you, the_ Defiant _, and his own crew into enemy territory and not coming back at all.”_

He was right, of course, and he they both knew it. But that just wasn’t enough for her. She knew that she needed to do more. For Tom, if not for herself. For her own peace of mind. “I’d like for it to be me,” she said. “Please, Captain.”

It took a moment, but Sisko finally relented. He sighed and sat back again. _“Report to Doctor Bashir when you reach the station. He’ll want to brief you on a few things before you speak to Riker.”_

“Thank you, Captain.”

 _“Don’t thank me yet, Colonel. Eight years is a_ very _long time.”_

Kira nodded, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

It wasn’t. _“He’s undergone experiences that most people could only imagine,”_ the captain continued. _“The man on his way to the station is not the same Tom Riker you convinced to surrender himself to the Cardassians. You’re both different people now.”_

“Of course, I understand that—”

 _“I don’t think you do, Colonel. Of course Riker has changed, but so have_ you. _If you’re anticipating that you’ll be able to reach out to him like you did before… Well.”_ He spread his hands a bit and let the silence speak for him. With that, Kira finally grasped his meaning.

“I’m still _me_ , Captain. Whatever I’ve dealt with, whatever I’ve seen, it’s nothing compared to what Tom has been through. I’m the same person he left on the bridge of the _Defiant_ eight years ago.”

 _“Are you?”_ Sisko asked, arching one bald brow. _“There’s a good chance you may not like what you encounter when you sit down across from him at that table, Colonel. But the odds are just as high that_ he _won’t like it very much, either. Think about that, and then decide if you really feel you’re the best person to conduct this debriefing.”_

  
*

   
“Where is Relta?” Damar snapped. His impatience might have won him a nervous stammer from anyone else, but Kren remained unaffected.

“Lost, I’d imagine,” the older Cardassian answered without looking up. He was standing in the doorway, using the pointed end of a knife to clear something from the joints of his metal fingers.

Damar’s new assistant had the unfortunate habit of getting turned around in what was, realistically, not a very large residence. Even taking the rest of the grounds into account, it was hardly understandable that the young man hadn’t learned his way around yet. He’d been on staff for three months already. The familiarity of an assistant who disappeared for long periods unsettled Damar. After his betrayal at the hands of his first assistant, Kivet Nelara, he hadn’t allowed anyone to fill the position permanently. In the two years since Garak’s plot had been uncovered, five young men and women had held the post, with the longest remaining at his side for an impressive seven months. He simply couldn’t bring himself to trust them. Kren often reminded him that it was highly unlikely a _second_ assassin would slip in under their very noses and become an integral part of Damar’s administration, but he simply wasn’t willing to take the risk.

“He’ll just have to catch up,” Damar said. He slipped past Kren’s sizable bulk and out into the hall, where he quickly made his way to the small set of rooms Kren used as both his living quarters and his office.

The narrow space might have been a servant’s quarters once, or perhaps a closet, and Damar had offered him a larger space if he so desired. His generosity had been soundly rebuffed. _“I don’t need much room,”_ the older Cardassian had insisted. Damar hadn’t pushed the issue after that. He was long past his days of trying to change Kren to suit his preferences, and, thankfully, Kren seemed to feel largely the same way in return. They coexisted peacefully that way. Most of the time.

Damar made an unpleasant face upon seeing the state of the office adjoining the nearby bedroom. A small tower of unidentifiable garbage toppled out into the hall around his feet as the door slid open, some of the objects becoming trapped in the mechanism and preventing it from nesting fully inside the recess. The door warbled in distress, and continued trying to open all the way. “This is disgusting, Kren. Where do you keep the camp records?”

“Should be on that shelf,” Kren said, his metal arm reaching into the room to point at a set of shelves in the south corner. “I keep immaculate records.”

“I imagine those records are the only thing immaculate in here,” Damar muttered. To Kren, he said, “If I slip on something—”

“I know the rules, no monuments.”

Damar lifted his arms to try and balance his way across a small patch of (he hoped not deceptively) clear ground. “No,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the shelves, “get _help_. Are you _really_ the best I can do?”

He could hear the outdated mechanics of Kren’s arm working as he lifted his great shoulders and shrugged. “It’s me or Relta,” he said.

“I’m not sure Relta didn’t disappear into this pit, actually,” Damar muttered. A moment later he found what he had been searching for: a case containing all the data rods of compiled reports from the closing of the labor camps. “You’re _certain_ the camp was cleared?” Damar asked as he gingerly stepped through the refuse on his way back to the door. Something cracked under his foot and he winced at the thought of what potentially vital objects might be hidden under the years of neglect. “I don’t want to look like a fool.”

Kren pinched his brows together skeptically, reminding Damar that he was, at the present moment, balancing on one foot while holding a box of data rods aloft and trying to hop through a makeshift garbage dump. “As you say,” Kren mumbled quietly. “Anyway, I’m sure. I double checked the reports myself. Those teams were hand picked, and I would have known if something had gone wrong. Certainly something as big as this.”

“It does seem unlikely it was a mere oversight,” Damar agreed. He finally made it back out of the room and quickly handed the box off to Kren’s waiting hands. “Look through these. I want a list of the men responsible for shutting down that camp.”

Kren nodded. “Shouldn’t take long,” he said. “In the meantime—”

 _“Legate Damar?”_ Relta’s voice interrupted from the communicator on Kren’s wrist. Kren unclasped the device and passed it over to Damar.

“You really should carry your own,” he complained with a frown.

“Then I would have to answer it,” Damar said. He tapped the communicator to reply to Relta. “I’m here.” As a quiet aside, he added, “Where you were _supposed_ to be.”

 _“Sir, the_ Ranat _has arrived in orbit. Departure for Deep Space Nine is scheduled for 1400 hours. Whenever you would like to board, the crew are prepared for your arrival.”_

“Very well, let Gul Anatra know we’ll be aboard shortly. I expect to see you there.” He closed the channel and passed the communicator back to Kren. “Work quickly.”

   
*

   
“I simply don’t have the necessary beds in the Infirmary to treat all sixteen at once—”

“We’re converting one of the cargo bays into a makeshift medical facility as we speak, Doctor. What else do you need?” Kira asked, she hoped not _too_ impatiently. She had thrown herself into the preparations for the arrival of the ships carrying the Lazon II survivors, and so far making space for all of them had been the least of her worries. Murmurs of discontent had been growing throughout the station over the past few days, growing steadily by the hour. She tried not to think about what it must have been like during the long weeks she and the other Bajoran crewmen were held captive on Cardassia. How the anger must have seethed just below the surface; quiet, but too obvious to ignore. She had no way of knowing if it was worse now, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer anyway.

“Well, that should be sufficient, yes,” Doctor Bashir said, sounding surprised. He paused, squinting at her, and Kira knew it was coming before he even drew his next breath. “Colonel, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if you need to rest—”

“Oh no,” Kira said, hands up in front of herself to head him off. “This is only temporary. I’ll be fine.”

The doctor nodded and cocked a wry grin at her. “I suppose I can overlook you running yourself ragged for another day or two more. And I still recall what happened the last time I advised that you take a day off.” He abruptly stopped. His smile dropped, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Colonel…”

Kira shook it off with a gentle swing of her head. Her mouth was set in a flat line to hide the frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked at something past Bashir’s shoulder. “Probably not the _best_ time to mention that, Julian.”

“No, of course not. I’ll…” He stepped back, gesturing over his shoulder toward the Infirmary. “I’ll go—” He gave a quick jerk of his head and sighed. “I’ll just go.”

Yes, finding space for the Lazon II survivors was proving to be the _least_ of her concerns.

 _“Colonel Kira?”_ Ensign Ross called through the comm.

Kira tapped the silver pin on her chest and said, “Things are a little busy down here, Ensign, what do you need?”

 _“I’m sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but I thought you’d want to know that the_ Ranat _has just arrived. They’re requesting permission to dock.”_

  
*

   
When the airlock door rolled aside, Damar was shocked to find that it was Kira—really Kira, for once—standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for him to disembark. Something in his chest felt lifted, suddenly too light, and he nearly let out a startled laugh. Nearly. He caught sight of her pinched expression and furrowed brow and stopped in his tracks, forcing Kren to grab the arch of the door to keep from crashing into Damar’s back.

“Hello,” Damar ventured cautiously. He ignored Kren’s muttered complaints behind him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You mean besides showing up here, unannounced, when half the quadrant is convinced you’ve been hiding prisoners of war on some backwater world where no one would find them? No, Damar, you’re in the clear.” She set her hands on her hips and demanded, “What are you _doing_ here?”

“I came to defend myself against those very accusations,” Damar said, straightening up just a bit. He didn’t need to show off for Kira, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could intimidate her, but he wasn’t going to be cowed into returning to his ship and limping home with his tail between his legs. He had every right to be there, to hear the accusations that would be made against his government and the military, and disprove them, if possible. He said as much, and Kira scoffed.

“You have no _idea_ the trouble this is going to cause, do you? Would you even care if you did?” She reached out and grasped his forearm, tugging him forward until he was crashing against her in a rough, awkward embrace. “ _You idiot_ ,” she hissed in his ear. She gave him a light peck on the cheek, and Damar felt himself flush.

It was at that moment that the sound of others approaching their position sent both Kira and Damar to opposite sides of the corridor, as far apart as they could manage. Damar’s heels collided with the steps, and only Kren’s metal hand on his shoulder kept him upright.

It was only Captain Sisko and Nog, as it turned out. The diminutive Ferengi arrived first, looking as put out as Kira, and on the verge of panic. “Doesn’t anyone _ask_  to come here anymore?” he complained.

“I’ll run that up against all the times the Federation has invited itself into Cardassian space. Or the hole in my foyer that took two months to fix,” Damar sneered, staring down at him.

The captain appeared behind him in the time it took the Ferengi to draw a breath. “That’s enough, Lieutenant,” Sisko said.

Nog backed off, but his icy glare remained locked on Damar. “Sir.”

“Legate Damar,” the captain continued, stepping past Nog. He raised his chin a fraction. The gesture was entirely unnecessary; he had enough height on Damar to make the conversation unbalanced to begin with. “This is a surprise,” he said.

Damar wanted to say that he very much doubted _anything_ came as a surprise to the captain anymore, but he held back, and said nothing, instead. When Sisko didn’t continue, it was Kren who stepped forward to fill the uncomfortable silence. “We’re only here to see to Cardassia’s interests in this unfortunate matter, Captain,” he said, with all the appropriate gravity the situation required. A perfectly diplomatic answer, and not what had been expected of him, if Sisko’s arched brows were any indication.

It took a moment, and Damar felt as though he’d briefly regressed to his youth as he watched Captain Sisko and Kren measure one another from opposite ends of the small space. Finally, with what felt like the snap of some invisible switch, the captain nodded, and the tension eased. Sisko glanced down at Nog. “Lieutenant, find accommodations for Legate Damar. He's going to be here for a while, we should make sure he's comfortable for the duration of his stay.” He cast a broad smile—at Kren, Damar noted with some slight chagrin—and added, “Welcome aboard, gentlemen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to talk about the fic or keep tabs on where I am in my writing, you can follow me on [tumblr](http://sedesla.tumblr.com/). It's easy to tell when I'm working on a chapter by the sharp increase in complaining.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [timeline](http://sedesla.tumblr.com/post/133472686698/ive-created-a-basic-timeline-for-my-ds9-fic) for the series is still current.

“We should be permitted to present our evidence before the debriefing.”

“It’s informal, Damar. Nothing is going to be decided until all the facts are gathered. You’re not going to change the captain’s mind, either.” Kira looked up at him impassively. Difficult, given that Damar was stretched out over her, naked, and they had just finished making love. His timing left a lot to be desired.

“But it isn’t—”

“If you say it isn’t fair, I’ll roll you onto the floor. It’s fair, Damar. That you were allowed to stay after showing up unannounced,” she added, interrupting him as he drew in a sharp breath to protest, “was _more_ than fair. You shouldn’t even _be here_ right now, and yet, here you are.”

“Cardassia hasn’t been declared an enemy of the Federation. Not yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is a Bajoran station. And stop being so melodramatic. Tom Riker isn’t going to turn the Federation or Bajor against you. It’s a mistake,” she insisted, “and we’ll correct it.”

It was a lot more than that, of course. The thought of even one man or woman being left to linger in the hell of a Cardassian labor camp for a day—a _minute_ —longer than they had to... Just the thought of it chilled her to the bone. They both knew that it was so much more than ‘just’ a mistake, some sort of accidental _oversight_ , but in that moment dismissing it made it feel less like a dark cloud hanging over their heads, ready to let loose a downpour.

Damar was unusually silent after that. He craned his neck to place a kiss just below her ear, and then shifted to the side to lie down in the empty space next to her. When he finally spoke, it was only to ask, “ _Tom?_ ” with a suspicious lilt to the familiar form of the man’s name.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear that story some time.” He flipped onto his back and crooked an arm behind his head. “I wouldn’t let Kren hear you calling his work into question. He’s determined to believe this is a setup. Based on what we’ve found, I don’t necessarily disagree.”

“Which is your way of saying you _completely_ agree, and you’re just humoring me when I tell you that this is far from the damning political scandal you and Shakaar and Kren have made it out to be. It’s a big ripple in the short term, Damar.” She breathed out an exasperated sigh and shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling, trying to make herself believe what she was saying. “Sometimes I think you enjoy intrigue a lot more than you let on.”

“You’re mistaking me for Garak.”

“I hope not, after what we just did.”

Damar only hummed at that. After a moment more Kira’s thoughts turned inward, and she considered the platitudes she was shoveling to keep the fear at bay. It was easy enough to assure Damar that this recent incident would have no more impact on the tenuous relationship between Bajor and Cardassia than any other setback they’d encountered. He wanted to hear it, after all, and she wanted to believe it. But when it came down to it, when the facts as they stood were laid bare, she was certain they both knew that the pendulum could swing in either direction, and neither one was all that appealing. Either Cardassia had been withholding prisoners of war in direct defiance of a promise made to Bajor by the leader of the Cardassian Union, or…

Or they were so incompetent that they couldn’t even manage to complete a simple, straightforward operation without finding some way to screw it up. Even _if_ they managed to resolve the matter with the peace still intact, barring a miracle, there wasn’t much hope for any sort of improvement on the relationship between Bajor and Cardassia.

She snorted quietly to herself: One more reason for the commanders of the Bajoran Militia to look down their noses at her.

She frowned at that, wondering why she had so casually included herself in the fallout, when she was, technically, on the other side of the issue. Of course she was Shakaar’s first choice when it came to matters dealing with Cardassia directly, and everyone knew that. Her time spent working with the Cardassian rebellion was a well known fact, and it made her the perfect candidate to bridge the gap between the two. No one else in the Bajoran government knew the other reason why, but they were aware of how often Shakaar tapped her to deal with something Damar was doing wrong. She just couldn’t recall when had she started to think of herself as some sort of formal attache to Cardassia; wrapped up and responsible for all the pitfalls that might plague that very unsteady relationship. Or was it something else?

Was it the the _other_ relationship between Bajor and Cardassia that made her feel so intimately tied to the ups and downs of their uneasy alliance? Shakaar frequently, _pointedly_ referred to her as Damar’s girlfriend, and Kira had never objected or shied away from his use of the word. She wondered if she hadn’t grown so accustomed to that sort of talk that she had simply come to accept it as a part of who she was, and let it color her view of events even outside of her direct involvement.

She inhaled sharply at the thought of just _what_ role she had unwittingly taken on through a strange combination of chance and irrational determination. She’d been with Shakaar while he was in office, and it had never seemed odd, or given her any sense of added responsibility. But somehow, being with Damar, Kira felt as though she was not only representing Bajor, but Cardassia, too. And when had _that_ happened? What did it even mean? She wasn’t sure that the spouses of Cardassian leaders held any sort of special social significance; it wasn’t something that had ever really crossed her mind, not that it mattered given the nature and secrecy of their relationship, and—

Her eyes flew open. _Not_ a spouse. She lifted her arms to cover her face with both hands. Was that _really_ what this had become? She was having trouble separating her place in everything from—

“Are you alright?” Damar asked.

Kira whipped her hands back to her sides so hard that they bounced off the bed. “Fine,” she snapped with nearly as much force. She took a calming breath and closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re certainly convincing me of that,” he said dryly. “If there’s something you’d like to talk about—”

“Not really, Damar,” she interrupted, cutting him off because his concern, his eagerness to provide support, was really _not_ something she wanted to think about at the moment. She had come to appreciate so much of what she’d detested about him before, and the thought of it twitched beneath her skin even as it warmed something deep inside her chest.

She had seen enough to know that it was only in that brief, unlikely moment after they had found one another that she could have ever fallen for him. Whatever weird impulse it was that had drawn them together had also opened their eyes to something they couldn’t seem to let go of again. Maybe some part of her had expected him to go back to Cardassia, find himself a new wife, and settle into the role he was made to play by the powers that now controlled Cardassia’s fate. Maybe, for a short time, she had even hoped that was exactly what would happen. But instead of that—instead of doing the sensible thing, he’d stubbornly held onto her hand and refused to let go.

And now he was asking her if she wanted to talk about the panic she felt over the realization that she was in too deep to back out. To _want_ to back out. That she had fallen for a man who couldn’t stop himself from loving her, no matter how hard it made his own life.

The space between them filled with an uncomfortable silence after that, and Kira folded her arms across her stomach, willing away her unease with little success.

_You do like powerful men, don’t you._

The uninvited echo of Dukat’s leering observation had her up and out of the bed like a shot, and Damar sputtered his surprise at her back while she gathered her robe and retreated from the room with a muttered excuse tossed over her shoulder.

With both hands threaded tightly through her hair, Kira paced the main room from the window to the door, unconcerned with the cool air on her skin as the robe fluttered behind her. She hadn’t bothered to tie it closed, hadn’t even bothered to look for the belt as she all but ran from the bedroom. Her head felt like it was full of buzzing insects, and she just wanted it to _stop_. She just wanted to live her life without the looming shadow of a dead man haunting every moment of peace.

Careful fingers wound their way between hers, gently pulling them from where she had gripped the hair against her scalp, and Kira turned to find Damar at her side. He said nothing, only lowered her hands and wrapped her in his arms.

She leaned into him, and beneath the feeling of now-familiar comfort and the fading static of her rage, Kira wondered what had happened to her hate. After so long, after so _much_ , how had it morphed into something so malleable and abiding that only craved  _this_ when she was faced with the worst the universe had to offer. All she wanted was the quiet acknowledgment and unreserved, unconditional acceptance that had somehow fallen wholly and willingly into her hands. The thought of it terrified and thrilled her, and something fragile lept in her chest at the prospect of admitting it to anyone out loud. But even as she basked in that feeling she had denied herself for so long, the ghost of Dukat hovered just out of sight, threatening to snatch it back in an instant with a single, shuddering memory.

It wasn’t fair to either of them. “I’m sorry,” she muttered against Damar’s bare shoulder.

“Was it something I said?”

She shook her head. “Nothing you said.” She felt him nod, and thought that maybe he had understood what hadn’t been spoken. She hoped, anyway. It was Damar, after all, and there was never any way to be sure he’d picked up on anything more subtle than a phaser pointed at his head. “You know,” she said, abruptly changing the topic for her sake _and_ his, “Captain Sisko will be fair. He’ll listen to you and Kren before he makes his report to Starfleet. Tom’s word won’t be enough if the facts don’t add up.”

“He’s a better man than most, in that case.”

“You should know that already.”

Damar seemed to ponder that for some time, still holding Kira wrapped in his arms. Finally he took a deep breath before he stood back from her and said, “It’s getting late. You should probably return to your own quarters.”

Kira found herself chuckling, despite the low ache of regret that thrummed beneath it. “Who would have thought you’d be the responsible one.”

“Well, they felt I was responsible enough to run an entire empire, I suppose I can be trusted with a relationship,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m doing well so far, I hope. And,” he added, cutting her off just as she opened her mouth to say something they both knew he wouldn’t like, “I _know_ you had any number of options, so I refuse to accept any comparisons in that regard. That said, thank you for making the most inadvisable choice available to you anyway.”

She waited only a few short seconds before nearly whispering, “The Union and I have that in common.”

Damar seemed to deflate a bit. He let his shoulders slump. His chin dropped to his chest and the hands he still had on her arms fell slack at his sides. “You can leave now, Colonel,” he muttered.

Kira leaned in to peck a kiss on the side of his jaw. He was trying not to smile. “Help me find my clothes,” she said, belatedly adding, “ _Legate_.”

 

*

 

At Kira’s insistence, Damar and Kren waited as patiently as either could manage given the sword dangling over both their heads. More so Damar’s, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter to the older Cardassian. Kren drank, gambled at Quark’s, and insisted on dragging Damar along with him everywhere he went for what he deemed _security reasons_. Damar had tried to reassure him that Ilpal’s deputies were more than sufficient to keep him safe, regardless of the current climate, but Kren wouldn’t hear of it. Evidently he felt that a single drunken Cardassian well past his prime was better equipped to defend against assassination than a highly trained militia unit comprised of individuals who had, in the past, been instrumental in helping to _rescue_ that same drunken Cardassian.

That was how Damar found himself, two days later, standing beside Kren as he clenched a handful of latinum strips in his mechanical hand and shouted joyfully—and drunkenly—at the dabo table. The wheel hadn’t even been spun yet. Damar sighed and looked around the bar for someone he could talk to who wasn’t trying to fleece him of any and all valuables on his person, or sell him something illegal.

His gaze landed on Lieutenant Dax, who had taken a seat at the bar, and was presently being leered at by Quark. He made his way through the crowd and took the seat next to hers. “Mind if I join you, Lieutenant?” he asked over the din of the gathered gamblers in the back.

Ezri started and turned to face him, smiling broadly. “Of course not!” she all but shouted. “Can I get you a drink?” There was a brief pause before she connected what her previous host must have known of his past habits and what she herself had encountered on the Breen ship, and she visibly winced. “Sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for, the offer is appreciated,” he said. “Unfortunately I’m not here for the drinks. Or the entertainment.”

He watched her nod and crane her head around to take a look at Damar’s wayward shadow. She smiled and lifted her chin in the direction of the dabo tables. “Kren looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

“Yes, he frequently does. I feel that much safer every time one of the waiters brings him another drink.” He made a point to sneer at Quark as he passed, and was rewarded with a disinterested shrug. There was a time his approval had meant something to people like that.

Or he’d only ever convinced himself it had.

“You know, Ilpal’s assigned security to keep an eye on you,” Ezri spoke into her drink. When she set it down again she added, “You can probably ditch Kren.”

“I would, if I didn’t think he would simply run me down and drag me back here.”

“That’s a good reason not to try, I suppose. Have you had a chance to speak to the captain yet? I suppose not, or else you wouldn’t be hanging around here.”

Damar shook his head. “I’ve been advised to wait, and trust that the word of the only cognizant survivor of the camp will not be enough to sway my allies against me, and I will be given an opportunity to present evidence that this,” he waved a hand dismissively, “is not our doing.” For a few fleeting seconds he wished he had taken her up on her offer to buy him a drink.

Ezri set her elbow on the bar and rested her chin in her palm. She was smiling at him, like she knew something he didn’t. “I take it that was Kira’s suggestion,” she said. “Because I don’t think you would have listened if it was anyone else.”

“I would appreciate it if you told her that. She is under the distinct impression that I’ve never heeded a word of her advice.”

Her answer was a halfhearted shrug as she drank the last of the liquid from her glass in one long pull. She set it back down on the bar when she was done, and made a gesture to Quark for another. It was so entirely unlike her that for a moment Damar wondered if he hadn’t just glimpsed a shadow of someone she had been before. “Come on, Damar, I think you two balance each other pretty well, don’t you? After all, she’s—”

_“Sisko to Dax.”_

She held up a finger to excuse herself, and tapped on her combadge. “Dax here.”

 _“The_ Mach’Sarg _has just arrived at Docking Port Four. Doctor Bashir could probably use your help getting everyone aboard and settled in.”_

“I’m on my way.” She turned an apologetic frown on Damar. “Sorry. The free advice session will have to wait until the next time Kren takes you on a field trip.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

Her small hand on his forearm stopped him, and he looked down at it like he couldn’t quite comprehend what the gesture was supposed to mean. “It’s just a joke,” she said with far more warmth than he would have expected. “It’s what friends do.”

He watched her go, disappearing into the passing crowd on the Promenade.

Damar stayed where he was, too stunned to react, though the lieutenant was long gone anyway. They were friends? They barely knew one another. He thought back to the dinner on Bajor, and the evening spent dining with Kira, Ezri, and Doctor Bashir. He thought of the weeks spent suffering under Bashir’s ever-present attention while he recuperated, and the doctor's repeated attempts at initiating conversations or scheduling future meetings.

Were Kira’s friends… attempting to become _his_ friends, as well?

_Why?_

“You look like you could use this,” he heard Quark say behind him.

Damar spun around on the stool to find the Ferengi holding Ezri’s abandoned refill. “I don’t drink,” he reminded him.

Quark just gave him a vaguely condescending, lopsided smile. He dumped the drink behind the bar and rinsed out the glass. “Maybe you should rethink that.”

“I’ll certainly take it under advisement,” Damar muttered to the countertop. He frowned and looked up at Quark. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, for starters, you look like you just got blindsided by a photon torpedo.” He paused the cloth he was using to wipe the now-empty glass. “And also because your girlfriend’s old flame just stepped off a Klingon cruiser, and she should be seeing him for the first time in eight years… oh, right about now.”

Damar felt like the stool had been kicked out from under him. “ _Old flame?_ What does that mean?”

Quark leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Do I really need to explain? I'm sure a man like you has had his share of—”

He had to fight the urge to drag Quark over the bar by his ears. “I know what it _means_ ,” he snapped through clenched teeth, leaning forward himself. “What _happened_ between them.”

At that, Quark stepped back again. He seemed to have realized he’d said too much—or perhaps just enough. Distantly Damar couldn’t help but wonder what angle he was playing. What did the conniving little worm stand to gain from telling him this? It had to be something worth the risk to his person, given that Kira was involved.

“It’s probably best she tells you,” was all Quark said. He went back to wiping down the sides of the glass with the cloth, seemingly absorbed in the mundane task.

“Quark, when I—” he stopped short, all at once struck by just what Quark was saying. The Klingon ship had just docked. Kira was probably there, and this man, this _Thomas Riker_ , would be disembarking. Assuming he hadn’t already. The only one of the prisoners who possessed the wherewithal to condemn Cardassia for something they hadn’t done, and, if Quark was telling the truth, someone Kira had been far more familiar with than she had let on.

A searing spike of jealousy shot through him, and though he was self-aware enough to be ashamed of feeling that way, it didn’t stop him from propelling himself out of his seat and all but running for the door. He trusted Kira—of _course_ he trusted her. But just who was this Riker? If he was involved in some sort of plot to undermine Cardassia’s interests and shatter her alliances, then what else might he be after? Was he a spy? Had the entire “discovery” by the Klingon crew been part of it, or was it only incidental; something his enemies had contrived to take advantage of a convenient situation?

His feet carried him to the Docking Ring before he’d even realized where he was. Up ahead he could see a gathered crowd, people milling about the wider corridor as they waited for instructions from the medical staff or carried out whatever tasks had already assigned to them. Damar slipped between them all, well accustomed to his presence being largely ignored on the station after so many visits. Even taking recent events into account, he barely garnered more than a few distracted glances and a frown or two as he strode past. Contrary to Kren’s intractable paranoia, he was certain that he was in no danger while aboard the station. Not compared to what he’d already been through in the past, anyway.

When he found Kira, she was standing at the bottom of a loading ramp, guiding Bashir’s staff as they moved the former prisoners one-by-one from the Klingon ship. He didn’t know where they were being housed; he wasn’t sure anyone had ever actually informed him. It certainly wasn’t his business, nor his current concern. At the moment, his thoughts were focused only on her.

He was just a few meters away when a slight commotion at the top of the ramp stilled most of the work surrounding the exit from the docking collar. Damar heard a man’s voice complaining loudly about something, and then one of the Bajoran nurses came stomping down the ramp, fists balled in frustration, and a deep scowl on her face. She said something quietly to Kira, and then both women turned to look at the man—Damar assumed the source of all the shouting—as he descended from the top of the ramp. This, Damar was certain, must be Thomas Riker. He appeared to stoop from his generous height, his broad shoulders rounded as though he was accustomed to having far less space to move about. His dark brown hair was thick and matted in spots, and nearly indistinguishable from his beard. What little of his skin Damar could see was filthy; covered in the kind of coars grime that no longer simply washed off, but had to be aggressively scrubbed out of the skin. Above all that, darting about and scanning the busy corridor below him, were sharp blue eyes that looked as though they hadn’t lost an ounce of clarity in eight long years.

Riker’s gaze seemed drawn to Kira, and he ignored all else as he half-stumbled down the ramp toward her. With his thick arms he swept her up in a crushing embrace and—

And _kissed_ her.

All the air in the corridor seemed to evaporate in an instant, but Damar knew it was only him. He heard noises; fractions of sound that he distantly registered as people speaking. They were going about their business, still tending to the other camp survivors, bustling about delivering reports and taking readings as though time hadn’t just stopped. None of them were aware that at that moment Damar was certain at any second he would fly apart into countless immeasurable pieces.

Kira was released from the encompassing hold of Riker’s arms, and she smiled up at him fondly. “Hello again, beautiful,” Riker said affectionately as he cradled her face in his palms.  
  
As though he could see each moment happening at once in crystal clarity, Damar relived all the times he’d been forced to hold back; every ache and regret he’d suffered as he watched Kira from a distance deemed safe enough to avoid scrutiny, and the catastrophic scandal exposure would cause. The years they had spent largely apart, locked in the silence that surrounded and restricted them like an invisible prison, dictating even the words they could say to one another when they were given the rare opportunity to speak. This man— _Riker_ , Damar snarled furiously in his mind—could do what Damar himself _never_ could. He could embrace Kira, hold her close to him, and it didn’t even register as anything noteworthy to those around them.

Without a word, Damar turned and left the corridor.

 

*

 

She had seen him. Just the last bit of him as he retreated from that section of the Docking Ring. The deep purple of the design inlaid into his black sleeves catching the light as he swung his arms in a way that told her he was moving quickly. He was retreating.

“Tom,” Kira murmured, trying to unstick the hands that grasped her shoulders too firmly. “ _Tom,_ ” she repeated more forcefully when he didn’t seem willing to let go. “I have to speak to someone. Go with her, she’ll take you to Doctor Bashir.” She motioned to Nurse Mesera, who had only agreed to stay under the assurance that she would not be required to do more than escort Tom to the Infirmary.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Tom said dreamily. He looked down at Kira like she was the answer to every injustice he’d suffered for nearly a decade. Part of her didn’t doubt that he thought that was _exactly_ what she was, too, which was a mildly alarming prospect. He smiled again and murmured, “I’ve got everything I need.”

For an uncomfortable second or two she was sure he was moving in for another kiss, but he only hugged her close, burying his face in her hair.

Kira felt guilt tugging at her—guilt for Tom, for all the things he’d been through. Guilt over her own inaction, and how easily she had pushed him to the back of her mind.

Then she remembered _why_ he had been through those things. What he’d done, and why he’d done it. Yes, she felt responsible for him to some degree, and she pitied him for what he had obviously suffered over the years. But she was _not_ his salvation. She wasn’t what he needed. They had known one another for a very short time, and what fleeting feelings there may have been between them were long dead. If there had been any to begin with.

“Tom, I have to go,” she all but snarled, wrestling herself from his arms. He let them fall to his sides and cocked his head at her curiously. “I have duties, Tom,” she sighed. “I can’t—” She stopped and waved a hand toward Mesera again. “Go with her. I’ll see you at the debriefing.”

She turned to leave, and immediately found herself face-to-face with Captain Sisko. “Colonel,” he said in greeting. “I see Mister Riker has come aboard.” He turned fully toward Tom, hand extended. “Welcome back.”

Tom took the captain’s hand and shook it firmly. “Captain Sisko. I understand there’s to be a _debriefing_.” He said the word like it was something distasteful. When he glanced at Kira she could still see the affection in his eyes, even if it was now laced with a thin veneer of suspicion. She couldn’t blame him. Not after what he’d been through. “I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible, if you don’t mind. Not to be rude, but I’m eager to put all of this behind me.”

“Of course, I understand completely, and we’ll certainly try to accommodate,” the captain said. He let go of Tom’s hand and clasped his own together in front of his waist. “But I’m sure you’d like to take advantage of the quarters we’ve set aside for you, first. There’s a fresh change of clothes waiting, and a bed.”

“Thank you, but I’d just like to—”

“Colonel Kira will be the one conducting your debriefing. I thought perhaps a familiar face might make it feel less like an interrogation, and more like the routine procedure it actually is. Unfortunately, right now it seems there is a situation with one of our other guests that requires her attention.” He made a gesture indicating the same direction Kira had seen Damar headed. “I’m sure you’ll forgive the delay. The colonel shouldn’t be long.” He pointedly fixed his eyes on her at that, and she understood the message clearly: _handle it quickly_.

“Of course, Captain,” Kira said, knowing how grateful she sounded. She slipped away from the conversation before Tom could raise any other objections, and headed for the Habitat Ring.

She was certain Damar must have gone back to his own quarters. The last update she’d been given by the Bajoran deputies was that Kren had dragged him to Quark’s. She knew how long Kren could occupy a dabo table, and that meant he was probably still there. Damar wouldn’t go back to the bar, not after what he’d seen. He would be furious. A public space like Quark’s wouldn’t leave him with any opportunity to act on his anger.

Part of her wanted to feel bad for what had happened, but it was small, and easily overwhelmed by the much larger part of her that knew it was no fault of her own. Tom had grabbed her up before she could even think to stop him, and, well, it wasn’t the first time he’d done that. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, either. She probably should have known he would do something so ridiculous, but her thoughts had been scattered lately, and she was so overwhelmed by the relief of finally getting a chance to _do something_ about this whole mess, to get everything out in the open and start to sort through the wreckage, that she hadn’t anticipated Tom being _Tom_.

But Damar… She could only imagine what he must have thought, seeing that. What he’d felt. It wasn’t guilt that sat like a hard lump in her chest, but it felt just as foreign and uncomfortable. It tempered her frustration, and eased the hammering in her veins as she approached the door to the large suite Damar was sharing with Kren. Just moments ago she had been ready to reach for the panel and announce herself, to begin what promised to be a spectacular showdown, if the rest of their shared past was any indication. Now her fingers stopped just shy of actually touching the button. She wasn’t prepared for the confrontation, and she had been prepared for confrontation since she was old enough to pick out a target and pull a trigger. But this time she found that she really didn’t want to fight the Cardassian in front of her.

Closing her eyes, Kira charged ahead and set her fingertips to the wide, flat button. She could hear the chime inside the main room. A strange silence followed, lasting longer than she had anticipated, and for a moment she wondered if she’d been wrong; had Damar gone back to find Kren after all? But then there was an answer from the other side, and the door was sliding open, waiting for her to enter. Without even realizing it, Kira found her feet carrying her into the room.

Damar wasn’t angry, at least not the way she had expected him to be. He wasn’t pacing the floor furiously, gnashing his teeth, or glaring at her in undisguised betrayal. He was sitting on the couch in the center of the room, his elbows resting on his knees, head bent and eyes cast down at his own clasped hands. He didn’t look up at her as she entered, and he said nothing when she crossed the room and took a seat in the chair across from him.

“I need to explain,” she said quietly, carefully.

“There’s no need to explain,” Damar answered almost immediately. He still hadn’t looked up at her, and that alone was somehow enough to lend an edge of urgency to her knee-jerk desire to clarify just what had happened.

“Tom isn’t—”

“I said there’s no need,” he repeated.

She watched in silence as he rolled his closed palms together and took several deep breaths, as though trying to build up the courage to do or say something more difficult than his resolve could manage. For a few awful seconds, Kira was certain he’d finally had enough. That this was the end of them. Fear started to swell like a lump in her throat, and she leaned forward in her seat, poised in midair over the short table between them. She heard the rattle of the metal as it landed on the glass before she actually registered what had caused it. Damar was looking at her, watching her for something she couldn’t quite understand. She opened her mouth to speak, and then promptly dropped her sight to the table, and the gold bracelet lying in a small pile of tangled links below Damar’s hands. “Is that—” She stopped herself, breath catching in her throat. “Is that what I think it is?”

The links were small, delicate in a way that suggested the bracelet had been lovingly created by a master of his or her craft. Damar couldn’t have simply bought it on his own; he couldn’t have even bought one of _lesser_ quality, not without drawing the worst kind of attention to himself. That meant— “Shakaar,” she muttered.

Damar seemed confused at first, but then he nodded. “He owed me a favor.”

“This is a lot more than a favor.”

“It’s possible I may owe him several, now.”

She couldn’t look away from the bracelet. It was beautiful, though slightly grimy between a few of the links. There was a story there, and she would probably get it from Shakaar, but later. She glanced up at him. “May I?”

Damar narrowed his eyes, but he spread his hands over the gold links before he leaned back on the couch. When she picked it up, the artistry became even more readily apparent; each link had been cast as a unique piece, bearing superficial differences that only enhanced the overall quality. She could tell the design must have been painstakingly carved before the mold was cast, and beneath the occasional patches of dirt ground into the relief she marveled at the intricate shapes. As she turned the gold bracelet over in her fingers, Kira could see that the links were each fitted so perfectly to one another that, at a glance, their connections appeared seamless. It was stunning. The gold was smooth and cool between her fingertips, and the urge to open the clasp and slide it around her wrist felt almost natural.

But instead of doing that, she dropped it back onto the glass tabletop. It fell in a small, glinting heap. “What are you thinking?” she hissed. “How can you _possibly_ believe this is a good idea?”

To his credit, Damar didn’t seem the least bit surprised by her reaction. She wondered if he’d been expecting it. When he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders she realized he hadn’t just been expecting it, he was _prepared_ for it. “Every time I return to Cardassia,” he began, in a tone that suggested he’d actually rehearsed what he was saying, “I wonder if that will be the end. Of us. I worry that you’ll grow tired of trying to keep this… _secret_. Knowing how weary I’ve grown of it, I couldn’t possibly blame you.” He shook his head. “I can’t ever be to you what Shakaar could be. What _Tom Riker_ could be. We would have to go somewhere else entirely, far away from here, if we ever had any hopes of leading a normal life. One without expectations or preconceived notions. But that simply isn’t an option for either of us. Not now, and perhaps not ever.” He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around hers. She hadn’t realized her fingers were balled into tight fists, and she let them go slack in his grip. “I could wait months—years—if I had to. If there were some sort of… A foundation, of some kind. I don’t—I can’t expect—”

He stopped, and Kira assumed he had reached the end of whatever he’d planned to say, and improvising hadn’t proved nearly as effective as he hoped. She let out a sigh and shifted her hands to lace her fingers through his. “Shakaar and I were over a long time ago, Damar. And there was never anything _with_ Tom to be worried about. Kidnapping isn’t a great basis for a relationship. You don’t have any competition.”

Damar hung his head and quirked a wry smile. “It’s the only way I could hope to win, I’m certain.”

She shook her head. “You’ve already won. You don’t need to _be_ anything but what you are. Whatever you’re hoping to do with this, whatever you want to prove, it’s—”

“This isn’t about _proving_ anything, Kira.” He dropped her hands and picked up the bracelet, holding it up as if to show it to her. “This is about knowing that when I leave, when I return to Cardassia, there will be more connecting us than some unspoken understanding.”

“What we have now, that’s not enough for you?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“It sounds like you did. What will making some sort of claim to me do that this,” she reached out and pulled him close, cradling his face in her hands, “can’t?”

But Damar swept her hands away. “It’s not a claim!” he snarled. He stood up and stormed around the side of the couch, coming to a stop right behind where he had just been seated. With the greater space between them, he gripped the back and said, “It’s about knowing that I am… That I am _something real_ to you!” He threw his hands up and let them fall back down with a loud thump. “That in some way,” he continued, dropping his voice again, “I have a presence, a _place_ in your life, even if I can never let anyone know.”

“You saw Tom kiss me, and you thought that meant you didn’t mean anything to me?”

“I saw him kiss you, and I saw that it didn’t _matter_. I can only ever imagine the luxury of greeting you with a kiss that isn’t locked away behind closed doors. Or embracing you where others might see. I know you didn’t kiss _Riker_.” He held up a hand to forestall comment. “It took every ounce of self control I possess not to wrap my fingers around his pink neck and throttle him until he turned as blue as a Bolian, but I know you had no part in what happened. It isn’t _you_.”

“Damar.”

“Please, just listen.” He came back around to the front of the couch and sat down again. This time he seemed a little more animated, but not just because of his frustration. Instead it was like he could barely contain himself as he outlined his reasoning. She realized he must have spent all the time between the moment he left the Docking Ring and when she showed up at his door poring over exactly how to explain himself. Just like she had. “This is not about proving anything, or laying claim to you,” he continued. His hands flexed, fists opening and closing again as he struggled to make himself clear. He breathed out a heavy sigh. “It’s a selfish request. I am aware of what I’m asking of you, and the extra burdens we would both have to live with. And I know you don’t share my feelings. I’ve accepted that.

“But it would mean more to me than I could ever express to you if I _knew_ , regardless of how long I had to wait to see you again, or how difficult our duties made it to even speak to one another—” He clamped his mouth shut and picked up the bracelet, holding it in one open palm. “If I knew, while stealing secret kisses and evenings too short to _ever_ be enough, that you and I shared something all the light years of distance, disapproval, and politics could never touch. It doesn’t have to be official.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head almost imperceptibly before opening them again. He no longer seemed able to meet her gaze. “Realistically it _couldn’t_ be official. But if you would...” His chest heaved with the effort, and his open palm shook slightly, making the gold links rattle against each other. “If you would be my wife—”

“Yes.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I don't think it's necessary to warn people when the chapter contains scenes that may be confusing, but this one is potentially much more, well... confusing than usual. The debriefing contains flashbacks that are expressed in italicized text. Think of it like a friendship bracelet where one part of the braid is something that happened 20 minutes ago. (I am the queen of bad analogies.) I apologize in advance if it gives you trouble, but I really wanted to write it this way.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

_“Breathe, Damar," she laughed. “It’ll be okay.”_

Kira entered the conference room to find Tom seated at the center of the long table. Captain Sisko was at his side, standing just past his right shoulder. Behind her, waiting to make a discreet exit and stand watch outside, were two Bajoran deputies. She knew Vezra well, but the other must have been relatively new to the station. It didn’t come as much of a surprise that she had started to lose track of the personnel in recent months. So many were only on temporary assignment, rotating through on their way to Bajor to assist in the transition. A few were accompanying shipments of equipment and cargo meant to shore up the existing industries and facilities on Bajor, in order to bring them up to Federation standards. The station was busier than ever.

“Is everything alright with our guest, Colonel?” the captain asked. He had a hand on the back of the chair next to Tom, and his fingers tapped out a light rhythm that Kira knew to be a sign of impatience. One dark brow was raised curiously, and she didn’t miss the shift in his line of sight as he looked down at her left wrist.

“Perfectly fine, Captain,” she said. “Sorry for the delay.”

“No apology necessary. Mr. Riker,” he added, turning to look down at Tom, “I leave you in the Colonel’s capable hands. When you’re finished here, the deputies will escort you back to your quarters.”

Kira ducked her head as the captain passed, and then she took a seat directly across from Tom. He watched her settle in silently, his blue eyes locked to her every movement. It was unnerving. Minutes ticked by, and the silence grew uncomfortably oppressive. An icebreaker might have been nice, but she had never been very good at those; Damar would have blundered his way into a conversation, saying the first thing that came to mind. She could have used some of that, just then.

“So,” Tom began, finally breaking the spell after what felt like agonizing hours had passed. He leaned back in his seat with one arm braced against the edge of the table. “It’s colonel now, is it? I’d say congratulations, but for all I know it’s old news to you.”

“Four years,” Kira said, nodding. She had brought a padd with her, ostensibly to record any information Tom provided during the debriefing, but also because she needed to do something with her hands. The padd provided the next best alternative to fingering the gold links around her wrist. She pretended to note something as she plucked away at the screen.

_“So,” Damar asked, “what do we do now?” There was still a slight quaver to his voice, but he was trying to control it. Kira found herself unable to hide a small smile. Trust Damar to ask a woman to be his wife, and then have no idea what to do about it._

_She shrugged. “Well, I suppose since it isn’t official, we don’t need to bother with planning a ceremony.”_

_“What a shame,” he said, feigning a disappointed frown. “I thought I’d look lovely in those ceremonial Bajoran robes.”_

Tom was saying something. Her attention snapped back to the present, and she unconsciously pushed the bracelet closer to the top of her wrist. It clattered against the glass tabletop. “Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Could you repeat that?”

“I was asking what your plans were.”

“Plans?”

“Your career. As I understand it, Bajor is just days from finally signing itself over to the Federation. The Bajoran Militia will be absorbed by Starfleet. You were a freedom fighter; I can’t imagine that sort of regimented life appeals to you.”

His assumptions made her bristle—as did the way he had described the matter of Bajor joining the Federation. _Signing itself over_. Like there was something dirty about it. “The Bajoran Militia isn’t some ragtag group of rebels, Tom. We’ve maintained Bajor’s security and held one of the most crucial points in the Alpha Quadrant for more than ten years now.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Why don’t we focus on what we’re here for, instead of Bajor’s future. Or mine.”

_“Do you think we’ll ever be able to lead that normal life you mentioned?”_

“Of course,” Tom said.

_“I’d like to think so,” Damar answered, but his tone belied the hint of hope his words offered._

Kira nodded. “Let’s start with the Dominion takeover of the labor camp.”

Tom took a deep breath and held it for a moment before he began to outline a scene as horrific as anyone familiar with the Dominion could have expected: mass executions, brutal abuses, and the ever-present, soulless Vorta overseers, watching it all unfold with a kind of detached curiosity. The Cardassians who had been running the camp up to that point were dismissed—sent away to fight on the front lines, someone had overheard. After that it was like time slowed to a crawl. Days were punctuated only by privation and the threat of imminent death looming over every man and woman in the camp. The Vorta steadily chipped away at their numbers, and prisoners would disappear seemingly overnight; in their bunks for the evening count, and gone forever by morning. After some time only a handful of the prisoners remained. Perhaps twenty or twenty-five, he guessed. And then one day, as though they had simply lost interest in the camp entirely, the Jem’Hadar and their Vorta masters were gone.

“You didn’t try to escape?”

“The camp remained operational,” Tom explained. “Force fields still intact, security protocols engaged. We had survived as long as we did by not taking risks. I don’t think anyone was anxious to take on unfamiliar Dominion technology.”

She made a note on the padd and asked, “Food? Water?”

“Some in stores, left over from when the Cardassians had been there. A few functional replicators in the barracks. We had access to those, but limited power.”

He took a deep breath through his nose and held it for a moment. “We rationed what we could for as long as we were able. But there was no medicine. Nothing we could do when—when people got sick, or injured.”

“What happened to the others, Tom?” she asked gently.

“A few of them were old. Too old.” He looked down at the table, at his hands, clasped together in front of him. “It didn’t take very long for… Anyway, by the time the Cardassians came back—”

“Wait.” Kira held up a hand to stop him. “The Cardassians came back? You mean to close the camp?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. Beneath the tangled fringe of his hair his brows were drawn down tight, like the very thought distressed and confused him. “To put it back into operation. With only a handful of us left there wasn’t much we could do, but they beat what work they could out of us.”

“The camps were being closed by the Cardassians. Why would they reopen Lazon II and shut down all the others? Was there anything special on that planet?” she asked, typing away at the padd as she did.

Tom scoffed. “What does it matter if there was? You have the proof of what happened—the Klingons found us there.”

“Where were the Cardassian officers?”

Tom jerked his head back. “What?”

“The Cardassians who came back to reopen the camp. Where were they when the Klingons arrived?”

He was silent for what felt like several minutes as Kira waited on the edge of her seat for his answer. Then, with a smirk and a gentle shake of his head, he said, “You know, I thought maybe you of all people might understand.”

It was her turn to be confused; she asked, “Understand what, Tom? I just need to know the facts.”

“You’re defending them.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and she felt her mouth twist into a sneer. “I am not _defending_ the Cardassians, why would you ever think—”

“That was enough, was it? That they just... _told you_ they were closing the camps? A promise from Cardassians has never meant much to anyone, not even other Cardassians. I’m surprised it was enough for Bajor.”

She set the padd down on the table and leaned back in her own chair; the motion made the gold links swing against her wrist, and she flinched.

_“What do I get?”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“You get to know that I’m wearing this.” She held up her arm. “What do I get for you? What do Cardassians do when they get married?”_

_Damar chuckled. He seemed embarrassed. “They just get married, Kira.” After a beat he asked, suddenly hopeful, “Why? Was there something you wanted to give me?”_

“Bajor and Cardassia have signed several treaties, and so far Cardassia has kept their end of every single one. We need evidence, Tom. Hard evidence. If what you’re saying is true, if we’re going to act on this—”

“ _If?_ Is there some sort of question here about what’s going to be done? They pulled sixteen of us off that planet,” he reminded her, his voice steadily growing in volume, “and I’m the only one left who has the sense to say anything about what we all went through. You want proof? I _am_ your proof!”

“It’s not enough, Tom! The Cardassians have kept faith with every other agreement they’ve made with Bajor. What you’re telling me doesn’t add up!”

Without warning, Tom threw the chair back as he sat up. He glared as he leaned down over the table until they were nearly eye-to-eye. “You want to know what doesn’t add up? Why you, a Bajoran freedom fighter, someone who has fought and killed Cardassians her entire life, would suddenly turn around and _protect_ them.”

She met his accusations and his gaze without flinching. “I am trying to determine the truth, Tom. Or have you forgotten how justice actually works?”

He stood up straight and tugged the hem of his tattered shirt. He was still staring her down like he could win the fight with will alone. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and full of venom, “I just don’t recognize your idea of _truth_ anymore, _Colonel_.”

   
*

  
Damar was lying draped across the couch, one hand tented over his face. Kren paced furiously behind him. Predictably, the conversation up to that point had been exhausting.

“You asked her to—you actually asked her to _marry you?!_ ” Kren sputtered, his voice fading in and out as he moved around the room.

“What was that?” Damar asked. Oh, he’d heard every word, of course. Plucking at the older Cardassian’s patience was just so terribly entertaining. Unfortunately it didn’t fool Kren, and he only thumped his way over to lean his massive body past the back of the couch.

“I was just confirming that you really are the fool I’ve always secretly hoped you wouldn’t turn out to be,” he rumbled.

“Oh.” Damar shrugged a shoulder. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Please, Kren, you’ve never made a secret of that.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Kira may have asked me that very same question.” He couldn’t completely recall, now; the giddy thrum of joy in his heart was overwriting everything else. Perhaps, with any luck, he would remember the details with more clarity later. He hoped he would. “I was thinking that I am in love with her. That I will always _be_ in love with her, and I wished to affirm those feelings with something a bit more tangible than subspace love letters. Does this really come as any surprise to you?”

“Honestly? No.” Kren shook his head. “I’ve expected this sort of nonsense since the moment I first took my measure of you. But I didn’t expect it would be so soon.”

“Three years isn’t exactly a whirlwind romance.”

Kren pushed off from the back of the couch and lumbered over to take a seat in a nearby armchair. “Feels like it,” he said. “Did she seem, I don’t know...” His arm made a series of strained, mechanical sounds as he gestured at nothing. Damar wondered if his prosthetics needed repair. Or upgrading. “Was she even excited by the idea?”

“If you’re hoping she was only agreeing out of obligation or _guilt_ , I am sorry to disappoint you. She was very enthusiastic.”

“Strange. I’d always assumed she was a rather clever woman,” Kren murmured.

Damar cracked open one eye and frowned. “That is my future wife you’re speaking of.” He paused, thinking. “Symbolically, anyway,” he added, closing his eye again.

“Yes,” Kren said, “and _symbolically_ , the two of you have gone from playing with fire to dancing over the coals. This is going to complicate your lives much more than you’ve probably imagined. And mine, I’m sure.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Sooner or later I’m bound to be right.”

Damar hummed thoughtfully. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I would certainly call this one of them. How in the hell did you ever manage this?”

That gave Damar something to think about; never in his wildest dreams would he have suspected something like this could happen. That Kira Nerys might willingly agree to bind her future to a Cardassian—to _him_. It was beyond comprehension, and yet he stood as proof of the impossible. Perhaps being plaything to the capricious whims of the universe wasn’t such a curse, after all. Although it certainly hadn’t been very pleasant up to that point. “How did you do at Quark’s?” he asked, eager to change the subject after that brief touch of introspection. He had better things to think about than feelings of inadequacy.

He heard Kren huff a small laugh. “Lost everything.”

“Well, at least the quality of your judgement remains steadfast.”

He was certain Kren had something equally snappish to say to that, but they were interrupted by the door before he could attempt to mount a counterattack.

“Come in!” Kren called out.

“Thank you. This is _my_ suite,” Damar reminded him.

“We’re sharing it.” He heard Kren rise from the chair as some ancient mechanism in his leg keened in protest. “Colonel. You weren’t expected until this evening. We were just talking about you.”

Damar sat up, suddenly animated. He caught sight of the look of fury on Kira’s face and shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away. There was a rigidity to her slender frame; she was coiled tight, and he knew the signs well enough to see that she was perhaps seconds from exploding. He didn’t need to guess why. “The debriefing,” he started, only to snap his jaw shut again when she turned her glare on Kren. The other Cardassian was watching Damar, oblivious to the signals Kira was throwing off like a lit flare. “Kren, could you give us the room,” he asked.

Kren, crossed his arms and said, “Oh no, I’m not making that mistake again. Not after what happened the last time I left you two alone.”

“ _Leave,_ ” Kira growled at him.

Kren hesitated, for once at a total loss for words. Regardless of his opinions about their relationship, and the admittedly questionable methods he’d employed in his attempts to sway Damar from what he saw as an unnecessary risk, the two had always been friendly and polite to one another. But Kren didn’t know her like Damar did. He couldn’t see that she was barely holding herself together. He couldn’t hear the strain in her voice that she would have denied if Damar had dared to point it out. Fortunately for everyone present, he seemed to understand regardless. Without a word of protest, he gave them both a brusque nod and left the suite.

Damar would undoubtedly be hearing about _that_ later.

He turned his attention back to Kira. “What’s happened, what can I—” He was cut short by small but alarmingly strong hands pulling him forward, making him stumble over his own feet and into what was less of an embrace and more of a vise-like hold. Her mouth crashed against his while her other hand wrenched his jacked open. “Kira,” he gasped, finding that speaking only gave her tongue an easy avenue into his mouth. He pulled back. “This is—wait a moment—”

She broke the kiss and moved her mouth to his ear, and the soft touch of her lips sent chills rolling down his body. “ _Pants off,_ ” she breathed. Damar nearly melted from the sound of her voice, and his knees were halfway to buckling before he realized his hands were frozen at her waist. The effort it took to move them was disappointing; he didn’t want to break contact, but Kira was waiting.

“Yes,” he answered numbly, bereft of anything better to say. “Yes, of course.” His fingers fumbled with the catch, and then he was hastily shoving at the waist to get them out of the way. He’d only made it as far as his thighs when the room abruptly upended—rather, _he_ did—and he found himself lying on his back between the couch and the low table beside it. “Kira,” he wheezed, “perhaps a bit too aggressive…”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, trailing her lips along his naked collar, barely brushing the ridge of one shoulder. Damar narrowed his eyes when it dawned on him that he had lost his shirt at some point. “I’m sorry,” she said again, “I need you. I need—”

“Is this what you need?” he asked, biting his lower lip as he rolled his hips upward. “Whatever you want, it’s yours,” he whispered. “Tell me.”

“Just be with me,” she said. “Touch me.”

Damar eagerly obliged; his hands roamed her arms and shoulders, encircling her neck tenderly. With practiced confidence, he swiftly removed the top portion of her uniform, tossing it to the side to land somewhere unseen. Kira pulled one of his hands to her mouth and kissed his palm, and then she was guiding him down, past the waistband of her pants even as she continued to free herself from the rest of the tight fabric. She was already slick and hot, and Damar groaned when he felt her shiver at his touch. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and gently nipped the soft skin, playing at it with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the small sounds she made with each flick. While the fingers of one hand reduced her to wordless moans, the other came up to tangle in her hair. He abandoned teasing the edge of her ear with his tongue to draw her down for another kiss, this one far easier and more languid than the others had been.

She moaned something into his mouth, and Damar let her go. “What’s that?” he asked playfully. He made no effort to hide his smirk when she twitched at the sudden curl of his finger. “Would you like something else?”

“No,” she said, “this is— _ah—_ this is—” She gasped again and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her breath was coming fast and heavy against his skin. “Don’t stop,” she begged him, her voice worn hoarse already; he wondered if she had been shouting before she came to him. With each stroke of his finger she jerked her hips, until the back-and-forth motions became a sort of rhythm all their own. Her thighs trembled where they were wrapped tight around his. It was an exhilarating sight, and Damar found himself captivated by it. Mesmerized by the way she responded so eagerly to his touch.

Without warning Kira arched her back—just enough to bow her head against his chest and push herself down onto his fingers. The sight alone was sufficient to bring Damar’s thoughts to an abrupt halt and leave him staring blankly, mouth hanging open, as Kira ground herself against his hand until she reached her climax. Her hips stuttered and she gasped wordlessly for several long seconds. Her fingers dug into his skin. Whatever had been wound so tight within her seemed to come apart all at once, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she went slack atop him.

Damar let his head fall back to the floor. He pulled his hand from between their bodies and flexed his fingers to shake out the cramp that was starting to develop. “Well,” was all he could think to say.

She huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Do you want me to…?”

“No need,” he said. In truth, the brief but intense activity, coupled with the stress of the day, had tapped what little energy he had left for the remainder of the evening. It was a limitation he had come to accept since the incident on Bajor, although it had taken some time. Kira understood this, and knew that he preferred to avoid the topic whenever possible, and so she set her head back down on his shoulder without comment.

They lay together quietly, but in the silence he could feel her inhale sharply several times, as though she had something she wanted to say, but couldn’t put to words. It didn’t take a great mental effort to see that she was troubled. “If you need to talk…” he offered.

Finally, after perhaps the fifth or sixth aborted attempt, she asked, “Do you think I’ve lost my objectivity?”

He lifted his head and peered down at her. “Objectivity?” he asked.

“About you—about Cardassia,” she added, quickly correcting herself. “Do you think I’m biased?”

For some reason the question made Damar laugh. He tried to hide it behind a cough, but he knew it wouldn’t work even as he tried. “Well, first I would like to remind you that I love you, so please, don’t take this the wrong way, but… you’ve never had a great deal of objectivity where Cardassia is concerned.”

She leaned up on her elbows, using his chest to brace herself. It was not comfortable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—your elbows, Kira, I can’t breathe—”

“Sorry.”

When he could draw a breath again, he said, “One way or another, your feelings about Cardassia have always been... complicated. I would venture so far as to say they were _intense_. Not always so favorably.” He cocked a smile at her that she did not seem to appreciate, and certainly didn’t reciprocate. He cleared his throat and continued. “Even outside of your very valid reasons for those feelings, which I am certainly not dismissing, you could never be accused of having been…”

She was watching him with a look he had often described as _cautiously predatory_. Unfortunately for him, it was not in the way he usually preferred. He was far too naked to tempt fate, and so he simply swallowed back the rest of his comment and decided let her interpret his comments for herself.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be an acceptable compromise.

“Having been _what?_ ” she prompted. “Fair?”

He hesitated. “Impartial.”

“I have been impartial. I _am_ impartial!”

He reached up and swept his palm over the crown of her head in a gesture he meant to be affectionate. It only seemed to annoy her more. “You are not impartial,” he said matter-of-factly.

She blinked. For a moment he thought perhaps she was considering what he’d said—at least until she told him, “I’m not going to marry you if you don’t think I’m impartial.”

“Now _that_ doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well,” she said with a grunt as she pushed herself up off of him to stand. “Fair or not, that’s my decision.”

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes, you’re the picture of rationality. I assume you’re not serious.”

“Of course not,” she sighed. “For some reason I love you enough to want to spend the rest of my life meeting you in secret every six months. Maybe that’s all the proof I need that I’ve finally lost my mind. I guess Tom was right after all.”

Damar was bowed forward, in the middle of tucking himself back into his pants, when he realized what she had said. He froze, still bent at an awkward angle on the floor. “You do?” he asked weakly.

Kira was just shrugging into the jacket top of her uniform. She stopped and turned to him. One arm was still extended outward, half inside the sleeve. “What?”

“You love me?”

A series of emotions crossed her face at a speed that might have been amusing under any other circumstances. As it was, Damar felt as though his heart had lodged itself in the center of his throat, and refused to move. He watched her, barely aware that he was holding his breath.

What appeared to him first as surprise morphed into confusion, and then something that might have been anger. It melted away too quickly to be certain, and all that was left was a sort of chagrined sympathy. “Of _course_ I do,” she whispered. She pulled the jacket over her shoulders and came to crouch by him on the floor. One hand reached out to rub soothing circles over his knee. “Do you really think I would have put this on if I didn’t?” She held up her other arm and gave the bracelet a shake. “Damar, all this time, you never thought that I might have finally gotten there too?”

“That isn’t—you never _told_ me, Kira. You never—”

“No, but I should have.” She looked up at him, and above a patient smile her brown eyes were filled with affection. He would never grow tired of seeing that. “Although you have to admit,” she continued, “it’s pretty strange to ask a woman to marry you if you don’t think she loves you.”

“I was under the impression that this,” he gestured between them, “was the most I could ever hope for. And in my defense, I never believed you would say yes.”

She gave him a strange look. “And that somehow makes it better?”

“I don’t—” He sighed. “I don’t know if I want to discuss this right now.”

He pushed himself to his feet. Her hand fell away from his knee, and she folded it in her lap as she looked up at him. “You aren’t actually angry,” she said, posing it as a question.

“No.” Damar shook his head. He sighed at himself. “Not angry.” His hair was still brushed back neatly, but he ran a hand over the top of his head to smooth it down anyway. A nervous habit he’d picked up somewhere. When he realized Kira was still sitting on the floor he extended a hand to help her up, and she accepted it. “Relieved. Frustrated,” he admitted, surprised by the truth of what he was saying. He had always expected to be overjoyed to finally hear her say those words. Not annoyed by the timing, or put out by the delivery. “And,” he added with a frown, “now realizing that I owe Shakaar an apology.”

“Mm,” she hummed. Apparently his pride was not of paramount concern to her at the moment. Her arms came around his sides and behind his back, and she leaned into him. “But, Damar…” she sighed.

He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders to hold her. “Yes?”

“I’m serious about this. The captain warned me that I might not be the best person for the job, and—” She stopped and shrugged. “Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m _not_ who I used to be, and maybe that’s a problem. Maybe, being with you, I can’t do my job the way I’m supposed to.”

“Kira, stop.”

She pulled her head back to look at him. “I just don’t know—”

“ _Stop_." Self-doubt was topic he was, fortunately or unfortunately, far too familiar with himself. He would not watch her fall victim to it as well. She was far too strong to let someone like  _Tom Riker_  undermine her confidence with a simple mind game. “It isn’t like you to be this uncertain,” he said. “This is my doing.”

“What? How do  _you_  have anything to do with this? I’m the one who’s lost sight of my convictions, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Are you telling me _that_ ,” he pointed to her bracelet, “isn’t a distraction? That your feelings for me don’t make you more inclined to give Cardassia the benefit of the doubt? Could you really be with me, like this, while believing I was capable of doing the things they’re suggesting I’ve done? Kira.” He stepped back just enough to grasp her by the shoulders. “We create bias. The very nature of how we feel for one another makes it impossible for either one of us to be truly objective in circumstances that involve the other.”

She nodded, but her mouth was twisted into a frown. “So, you agree with Captain Sisko.”

“No.” He shook his head, slowly the first time, and then again more firmly. “No, I don’t. You may be biased, but there is no one more qualified to find the truth, and then do what needs to be done. I have personally watched you suppress every instinct within yourself in order to do what you _knew_ to be right. I don’t doubt for a second that you are fully capable of ignoring your own feelings if need be. I don’t think the captain doubts it, either, but it is _his_ duty to say something regardless. And,” he added, slipping a finger along the hair that framed one side of her face, “I know we’re innocent of these accusations. In this case, at least, your bias is irrelevant.”

“That’s a pretty bold claim.”

Damar reached down to take her wrist in his hand. He ran his thumb across the gold links. “Yes, well, I’m feeling rather confident today.”

Kira turned her wrist until she could grasp his, instead. She lifted it to her mouth and placed a kiss at his pulse point. “Oh really,” she murmured, drawing out the words while her other hand slipped up and over his shoulder ridge and along the back of his neck. Her smirk was obvious, as were her intentions. “ _How_ confident, exactly?”

   
*

  
It was late. Far too late, she realized with a start. Damar was wrapped around her like an eel, and the blankets had become twisted around both of their bodies. Combined, they were probably the worst two people to attempt sharing a bed, yet it never seemed to stop them from trying. There was another chirp from her combadge on the bedside table, and she scrubbed a hand over her eyes, yawning, “Go ahead,” to the silver pin.

It was the captain. His deep voice rumbled through the comm. _“Colonel, report to Runabout Pad E immediately. There’s been an incident.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tom is a lot of fun to write because Jonathan Frakes is _just. so. intense._ with his dialogue.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My passion is naming Runabouts.

Blood. It was the first thing she noticed when she entered the bustling space of the usually empty landing pad bay. Blood on the floor, beneath her boots; blood on the bottom of the wall, where weak fingers hadn’t been able to reach the panel in time to raise an alarm.

Ensign Alard’s body lay on the deck, not far from where it appeared he had been attacked the first time. No forensic report was necessary to see that the initial wound—a slash across his throat—had been too shallow to prove immediately fatal. The attacker also must have realized his or her mistake, following the first cut with a series of deeper punctures to the abdomen. It was more than enough to have caused the ensign to bleed out in just minutes.

“His combadge is missing. He managed to crawl a little over two meters to the door,” Kira overheard Ilpal explain. The constable was standing with Lieutenant Wilson, Alard’s duty supervisor, and the current highest ranking Starfleet Security officer aboard the station. They were out of the way of the personnel conducting the analysis over and around Alard’s body, but keeping an eye on the proceedings nevertheless. “I’m not sure how he made it as far as he did with the kind of injuries he’d sustained,” she added. “We’re still trying to figure out how they jammed the security feed.”

“Any idea who did this?” Kira asked as she joined them.

Ilpal eyed her with a quick but decidedly grim sidelong glance. She was obviously unhappy as she said, “My first guess, based on what sort of weapon was used, would be a Cardassian.”

“That isn’t possible.” It had been a knee-jerk answer, and Kira immediately regretted it. Especially once she realized that it seemed to have piqued Wilson’s interest.

“Why is that?” the Lieutenant asked. There was a thread of accusation running beneath her question, but Kira ignored it.

“There are only two Cardassians on the station right now,” she explained, dodging the whole truth as much as she could, “Legate Damar was in his quarters all night.” She hoped Wilson would ignore the obvious reason _why_ she might know where Damar had been all evening. There were more pressing matters at hand than rumors related to a fellow officer's love life.

“And the other?” Wilson asked.

“Kren’s been at Quark’s, trying to recoup his losses,” Ilpal answered. “He was trying his hand at tongo when I passed the bar on my way here.”

“What about the crew of the _Ranat_?”

Ilpal shook her head. “I haven’t checked the logs yet to confirm it, but as far as I’m aware, they’ve all remained aboard their own ship for most of the time they’ve been here. Which is smart, given what’s been going on. And there’s security on that section of the Docking Ring for that very reason. If someone had left, I’m sure I would have heard about it by now.”

“Yes,” Wilson said, “but given that particular situation, and the early information we have regarding Alard’s murder, it’s safe to assume there’s at least one Cardassian whose whereabouts we haven’t accounted for.” She crossed her arms, angling herself so that Alard’s body was no longer in her direct line of sight. “For all we know, Legate Damar wasn’t in his quarters at all. He was a career soldier in the Cardassian military, wasn’t he? Taking out an unarmed ensign would have been easy for him.”

Kira snapped, “He isn’t a murderer,” without thinking.

Wilson turned a critical eye on her. It came with a condescending sneer that Kira would have liked to mention, and might have, at another time and place. As it was, she was much to preoccupied with her own sudden shame. “Isn’t he?” Wilson demanded, giving Kira a once-over that couldn’t be mistaken for friendly. “I’ve read his file, Colonel. I’m surprised you can say that with a straight face.”

Kira couldn’t help the cringe that worked its way up from within; she wasn’t able to argue what Wilson had said, but part of her wanted to, and that was the part that she knew she needed to silence.

“We’ve both worked closely with him for years,” Ilpal said, stepping in yet again. Kira noticed the careful wording, and she was grateful for it, even as she felt herself flush with anger. Not all of it was aimed at the lieutenant, either. Ilpal continued, “Alard had also been on several missions with him after the war. Damar saved his life on one of them.” She then turned and pointed to the empty space where the _Waimea_ had been docked until only an hour or so earlier. “And you’re forgetting the missing Runabout.”

That didn’t seem to matter much to Wilson, though. She rolled her eyes. “Autopilot,” she argued, “to make it look like someone murdered Alard and stole the craft.”

“What motive would he have to murder Ensign Alard?” Ilpal asked incredulously. If anything, she seemed more offended by the suggestion of Damar’s possible guilt than Kira did. But Ilpal had always been quick to see the best in people before their flaws; she trusted Damar, and Kren, and it would take a lot more than accusations based on convenience to change that. For a moment, Kira felt strangely grateful to have the constable on her side.

Her side. It was supposed to be the same side as the truth, whatever that turned out to be. Maybe Tom _was_ right.

“I don’t know, Constable. I’m not a killer,” Wilson said, dismissing the question without really answering. “But I do know that one of my men is dead, and everything about his murder says he was killed by a Cardassian weapon. A weapon I would imagine isn’t something you find lying around on a Bajoran station. That implies it was a Cardassian who did it.”

“I think you’re forgetting that this was a Cardassian station first, Lieutenant,” Ilpal said. “They left a lot of souvenirs lying around. That knife could have been in an unopened service locker, for all we know. It could have been a holdover from the Occupation. We don’t have the weapon, and Doctor Bashir hasn't finished his analysis, so right now all of this is pure speculation.”

Wilson laughed, and it only seemed to rankle Ilpal. Kira couldn’t really blame her. “From the Occupation? Are you suggesting a Bajoran did this?” she asked. “One of your own people?”

“I’m _suggesting_ that it could have been anyone; maybe even someone who only wanted us to think that it was a Cardassian that killed Ensign Alard. None of this adds up,” Ilpal said, unknowingly echoing Kira’s earlier comment to Tom. “The missing Runabout, the weapon, the victim; if we only focus on the most obvious details, we may miss something much more important. I’ll conduct this investigation based on facts, Lieutenant. Nothing else.”

The emphasis Ilpal had placed on just _who_ was in charge of the investigation apparently hadn’t been lost on Wilson; she seemed to decide that was her cue to bow out of the conversation. “Well, you know where to find me if you need a statement,” she said. With a curt nod, she excused herself, heading for the door on a wide path around the drying blood.

Ilpal waited for her to go, and then turned back to Kira and whispered, “You’re _certain_ that Damar has been in his quarters all night? I’m sorry, but I do have to ask.”

“I was with him, Tema, he was asleep when this happened.”

If Ilpal felt any measure of disgust or disapproval over the unspoken admission, she didn’t show it. Kira supposed that was something she should have expected; after three years, it was hard to imagine the other Bajoran had just been hiding her opinion of their relationship. “In that case,” Ilpal said, “it would be pointless to consider him a suspect. At least unofficially. And Quark’s been fleecing Kren all night. The men aboard the _Ranat_ haven’t left, either. I’d bet on it.”

Hearing Damar tentatively cleared of suspicion was a relief, but it was short lived. “Where does that leave us, then?” Kira asked. She couldn’t help but glance over as Julian and two of his nurses lifted Alard’s body onto a stretcher and covered him with a cloth. They would complete their examinations back in the Infirmary, with an autopsy.

“With no leads,” Ilpal sighed. She had also been watching the medical staff as they worked. In fact, everyone in the bay had stopped what they were doing to watch as the ensign’s body was taken from the room. The doors closed behind the grim procession, leaving them all in silence. After that, all that remained was a cold pool of blood, and too many questions without any answers.

  
*

  
Damar woke slowly, aware that he was alone in his bed, and as always not the least bit surprised by it. What put a smile on his face despite the empty stretch of bed beside him was knowing that wherever she was, Kira was wearing his bracelet. She was his. She _loved him_. He wanted to laugh at what a fool he’d been. Shakaar was right, he had only been wasting time, afraid to ask for what he’d wanted all along.

Damn him, Shakaar was _always_ right.

“Computer, time,” he called out as he threw the blankets aside.

_“The time is zero-three-hundred hours, twenty-two minutes.”_

It was much later than he expected. That explained why Kira had gone, at least. Damar shuffled out into the main room to see if Kren had returned from wherever he’d gone after Kira chased him off. He found the entire suite was still empty. “Where is Kren?” he asked.

_“Parlan Kren is on the Promenade, level seven, section five.”_

Quark's. “Apparently he didn’t lose _everything_ ,” Damar muttered, recalling Kren’s earlier claim.

Kira had obviously returned to her own quarters to sleep, which left Damar alone, awake, and with nothing to do. He considered heading to Quark’s as well, but odds were high that with the bar long closed, the private game meant to pick Kren clean of his remaining latinum would not be open to an observer. Certainly not one who might drag the other Cardassian back to his quarters. Quark could have him, he decided. Damar had no need for Kren at the moment anyway.

After puttering around the suite for a while, Damar found himself struck by the sudden urge to go directly to where Tom Riker was staying and speak to the man himself. It was ludicrous, of course, and Kira was likely to murder him for even thinking about it, but some part of him thought that was what was really needed to put the matter to rest. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Captain Sisko, or believe that Kira was capable of finding the truth scattered amongst the obvious lies. He just felt… _helpless_. Useless might have been a better word for it, but there was a measure of powerlessness to his current predicament that he found galling, and oddly embarrassing. He’d suffered plenty of indignities over the years, but this one heaped so many personal insults into one that he almost felt as if he were owed the opportunity to seek his own closure. Only he couldn’t. He wasn’t _allowed_ to. As the love of his life had so politely reminded him, he had barely been permitted to remain aboard the station. Thinking of that only made him feel annoyed, of course, and in his anger he immediately dismissed every good reason  _not_ to do it.

“Computer, where is Thomas Riker being kept?”

His question was met with silence. That was strange. “Computer?”

An odd, angry beep sounded over the comm, and a voice asked, _“Legate Damar, why are you asking for the whereabouts of Thomas Riker?”_ It was Ilpal.

“Are you monitoring my computer access, Constable?” he retaliated, not interested in admitting to her that he was acting on a bad idea.

 _“For the moment,”_ she answered easily. _“I’m monitoring a lot of things, actually.”_ He could imagine her sitting back in the chair behind her desk, shrugging. Again she asked, _“Why did you ask about Riker?”_

He looked around the room and then lifted his arms and dropped them helplessly. “I was curious.” He hadn’t felt nearly so scrutinized while living under the watchful eye of the former Cardassian state, or their deadly masters in the Obsidian Order. Granted, at the time he’d had little reason to care that his every move was being carefully monitored. Now it seemed like an invasion of privacy at its most basic level.

 _“This is a bad time to be curious, Damar,”_ she said.

He assumed at first that she meant the circumstances surrounding the liberation of Lazon II, but after thinking about it for a moment, he realized that wasn’t nearly reason enough for such measures. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Is Kir—is everyone alright?”

Ilpal didn’t answer right away. He heard a quiet sigh, and then she took a deep breath and said, _“Kira is fine.”_ The casual mention meant Ilpal was alone in the security office, and Damar could speak freely. Before he could try, however, she added, _“There’s been an incident. That’s all I can tell you. For now, you should remain in your quarters. I’ll have someone haul Kren out of Quark’s and return him to you.”_

“Am I being held here related to that incident?”

_“It was only a suggestion. And you know I can’t answer that.”_

He frowned. That was a neat way of saying yes without actually saying anything at all. “Have Kren taken to the _Ranat_ , instead,” he said. “The crew can nurse him through his hangover.”

 _“I’ll make sure he gets there safely.”_ She was quiet for a moment. _“Damar?”_

He looked up. “Yes?”

_“It was the wrong time to say something to Kira, but I wanted to offer you both congratulations.”_

Despite himself, Damar couldn’t help a small smile. “Thank you,” he answered. It was strange, being able to speak about it so casually with someone not directly involved in containing their secret. Strange, and pleasing. “Goodnight, Constable.”

_“Goodnight.”_

  
*

  
It was morning before Doctor Bashir concluded the autopsy. Kira had been waiting half the night for news of anything relevant to the investigation that earlier analysis hadn’t already revealed. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open while Julian briefed the nurses arriving for shift change.

Once the situation had been recapped and Julian finally dismissed his staff to their tasks, he came over to where Kira was sitting. “Well,” he sighed, “I have information, but I’m not sure it will be of any great help to you or Constable Ilpal.”

“What is it?” she asked, desperately fighting back a yawn.

“I can say with absolute certainty that it was not a Cardassian service knife that caused the injuries to Ensign Alard,” Julian said. “But whatever it was, it wasn’t a weapon cataloged in any available databases, either. I’ve searched them all. The size and shape, even the pattern of tissue striations all appear nearly identical to those that would be left by that type of Cardassian weapon. But there are microscopic differences that suggest not only was it fabricated through an entirely different process than the mass-produced Cardassian knives, but that it was actually made with the intention to _mimic_ those signatures.”

Kira shook her head; she wasn’t awake enough to process what he was saying. “Wait. Are you telling me it was some sort of… custom-made fake? Something that was only supposed to _look_ like a Cardassian knife?”

“Yes. And one poorly made for the purpose, at that. A brief cellular scan was all it took to confirm my initial suspicions. A first-year medical student could have made the same determination.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “If the killer wanted it to look like Cardassians had committed the murder, why not get an actual Cardassian knife?” Ilpal had been right about one thing: Cardassian weapons were hardly rare in that region, and only slightly less common on the station.

“I’m not sure. It may even be possible that their true intention was to make it seem as though the Cardassians were being framed, but what possible purpose that could have served...” He shrugged. "I couldn’t even begin to guess the meaning of these anomalous details without some idea as to who the perpetrators may have been.”

“You think more than one person was involved?”

“I think it’s safe to assume that this was not simply a crime of convenience, or a grudge turned deadly, yes,” he said. When he saw the questioning look she was giving him he said, “There were no signs of hesitation.” Julian led her over to a nearby console and pulled up the full analysis of Alard’s wounds. “This was the first phase of the attack, here,” he said, pointing to a diagram of the lengthwise slash along the left side of Alard’s throat. It was just below the scar from his injury on Orias III. “The laceration itself wasn’t severe enough to sever the carotid artery or the jugular vein, but it was sufficient to silence him by cutting his trachea. Based on this, I don’t believe the intention was to kill him with the first strike, as we initially assumed.

“Forensic analysis of the attack indicates that Ensign Alard was held from behind. The cut was made in such a way that it very cleanly avoided anything else which may have killed him more quickly. Difficult to accomplish from behind, and even more so while holding someone who is struggling, as Alard almost certainly would have been. It would require either extraordinary luck, or the sort of strength one would normally find in a Vulcan.” He switched the image on the screen to a set of four diagrams, each depicting one of the abdominal stab wounds that ultimately ended Alard’s life. “Here the analysis indicates a completely random pattern; the attack at this phase was not about finesse, but rather about inflicting the maximum possible damage to Alard’s person.”

It was difficult to listen to such a clinical analysis of a colleague’s death. Made even more so by the accompanying diagrams. She had seen a lot of death in her life, but it never got easier; it never stopped feeling needless and wrong. Kira shut her eyes for a moment and tried to parse what Julian was telling her. “So, what you’re saying is that they _purposely_ left Alard alive as long as possible?”

Julian shook his head again. “I’m not sure it had anything to do with keeping him alive, actually. The first injury left little in the way of identifiable markings; had the cut been only slightly deeper, Alard would have died all the same. In fact, his death would have occurred much more quickly, and we would have had virtually no physical evidence to suggest who may have killed him. It was the gut wounds that left the markings which at first suggested a Cardassian weapon had been used. They were random, and inconsistent in both depth and placement. Almost as though the attacker had no interest anymore in how the killing was carried out after having been so careful a moment before.” He shut off the screen, returning it to the default view. “If what I think I'm seeing here is correct, Colonel, I’d say we’re looking at a false flag operation. Alard wasn’t simply in the wrong place at the wrong time: he was killed for a very specific purpose.”

“Have you told Ilpal?” she asked.

“Not yet. I thought perhaps you might have something to add. Something I may have missed.”

Kira shook her head. “Nothing.” She tapped her combadge and said, “Kira to Ilpal.”

_“Colonel. Good timing, I was just about to call you.”_

Kira and Julian exchanged glances, and Kira asked, “Why? Did something else happen?”

 _“You could say that,”_ Ilpal replied, her voice grim. _“Meet me in the Habitat Ring. Section Eleven-B.”_

Kira turned worried eyes on Julian. He understood as well; that section of the station contained the guest quarters. Where Tom Riker was being held.

 

 

“With everything else going on, no one noticed until shift change,” Ilpal explained. “They arrived to relieve the team on Riker’s door and found both deputies gone. Along with Riker.”

Tellaro entered the room carrying a data padd, which he handed directly to Ilpal. “The search teams have all reported in,” he said, “no sign of Gether or Vezra anywhere. Security footage of the corridor outside shows both deputies entering the room, followed by all three leaving together roughly ten minutes later.”

Ilpal examined the information on the padd, then handed it off to the captain. “Their last confirmed location was the third connecting bridge between the habitat and docking rings,” she said. “That was only a few minutes before the security feed was interrupted in the bay below the landing pad.”

“And only minutes before Ensign Alard’s murder,” the captain confirmed. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It appears you have the identities of your prime suspects, Constable.”

Kira couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she couldn’t think of any way around it, either; somehow, Tom and two Bajoran deputies had conspired to steal a Runabout, and along the way they had murdered a Starfleet officer. “It doesn’t fit with Doctor Bashir’s analysis, though,” she said. It didn’t fit with what she knew of at least two of them, either, but she kept that to herself for the moment. “Suppose Tom, Vezra, and Gether did hatch a plan to steal the _Waimea—_ why would they bother jamming the security feeds? They could have been on the Runabout and off the station before anyone was able to stop them. Why kill Alard, and why use a fake Cardassian knife to do it?”

“Riker did spent the last eight years in a Cardassian labor camp,” Ilpal said, as though that might explain his actions.

“That doesn’t make him homicidal. And it doesn’t explain why the other two went along with it.”

“I agree,” the captain added. He shook a finger at the air. “Something about this doesn’t make _sense_. Even if we allowed for some change in Riker’s personality during his time in Cardassian custody, it still doesn’t explain how he managed to convince two deputies to abandon their posts. And it doesn’t explain why either would willingly participate in a murder immediately after.”

Kira crossed her arms over herself. She wasn’t happy with what she had to say, but duty demanded she say it. “Unless _they_ were the ones who convinced _him_.”

Both the captain and Ilpal looked at her. “You think Riker was just a convenient scapegoat?” Ilpal asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible, but I still can’t imagine why they would do it. Were we able to track the _Waimea_ after it left?”

Ilpal frowned, which was answer enough. “We tried, but they managed to mask the warp trail. The logs show them moving at a little over warp three until the edge of sensor range. Then they disappear. All we do know is their original heading.”

The captain said, “Something tells me they planned for that, too.”

Kira realized at that moment that he was right: this had been a _very_ carefully constructed plan. There was nothing random about any of it. The timing, the murder—even the weapon that was used. “They must have been planning this before Tom even arrived,” she said, feeling gutted by the awful truth of it. They had been played from the start, and no one had noticed until it was too late. She wondered now if the Klingons finding survivors on Lazon II had been part of the plan too; if Damar had been right all along, and this wasn’t just an oversight, but a full-fledged plot against Cardassia. “Vezra and Gether knew exactly why Tom was in that labor camp, and they knew he would help them.”

“Help them do what?” Ilpal asked.

She thought of the scenario Julian had described; of evidence tailor-made to indicate that Cardassians had been responsible for Alard’s death, and purposely left on the body. Tom was former Maquis. It didn’t take a lot of work to figure out why Gether and Vezra had turned to him for the final piece of their plan. “Take revenge on Cardassia,” Kira said.

  
*

  
Damar stood as the door to his quarters opened. He’d been hoping it was Kira on the other side when he heard the chime, and he was pleased to see he was right. “Tell me,” he said, skipping all the usual pleasantries.

“You need to leave.”

“I’m sorry?”

In a few quick strides she crossed the room and came to stand in front of him. Her slender fingers clutched the front of his jacket. “This isn’t because of you, and I can’t tell you why, but you need to go back to Cardassia. Today.”

He carefully pulled her hands from his clothes and held them in his own. He could feel the bracelet beneath his fingers where they were wrapped around her wrist, and he wanted to be happy about it. “Tell me why,” he asked. “Before I even consider saying yes, I need to know why.” At least Shakaar had done that much before summarily dismissing him from Bajor.

She only shook her head, sending the silver chain of her earring swinging wildly. “For your own safety,” she said. “I need you off this station. I need you away from Bajor.”

He narrowed his eyes. Why wasn’t she able to tell him if it had something to do with him? He suddenly felt very tired. “You’re not making any sense, Kira. If I’m in danger—”

“I don’t know _who_ is in danger. You, probably, but right now all I know for sure is that it’s not safe for you here, and I—” She stumbled over the words, but he understood what she was trying to say. He could have saved her the trouble, but there was a greedy part of him that longed to hear her say it, regardless of how hard he knew it would be. The words finally exploded out of her: “I don’t want to lose you, Damar. I _can’t_. So you need to go.”

“I have every faith in Ilpal’s deputies, regardless of what’s happening between Cardassia and Bajor,” he assured her. “I trust them completely.” He’d meant it to be soothing, but as usual it only seemed to have the opposite effect; a pained look came over her face.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “The _Defiant_ will escort the _Ranat_ back to Cardassia. We’ll be with you until you’re on the surface.”

He started to object again, but a look from Kira stopped him.

“For once,” she insisted, “please, just listen to me.”

 

 

It was back home on Cardassia, three days later, that Damar finally learned what had happened. But it wasn’t from Kira. It wasn’t relayed to him by Captain Sisko, nor even Shakaar; it was gossip. Caught entirely by accident while he was helping Kren clear the mess out of his rooms because there was little else to do at the moment. He was rounding the corner, heading to the back of the manor with his arms wrapped around a container full of junk, when he overheard Relta and one of the housekeepers deep in conversation.

“I heard they had planned to kill every Cardassian aboard the station,” the housekeeper whispered. The hushed sound of her voice carried what she was saying just as clearly as if she had been speaking at a normal volume. Damar often wondered if the house wasn’t designed to enable eavesdropping. Given its origins, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

“I’m lucky to have survived, really,” Relta said. He wasn’t bothering to lower his voice at all. “We were still aboard the _Ranat_ , of course, but if they were willing to murder a Starfleet officer, who knows what else they might have done.” Damar could hear the play for sympathy in his assistant’s tone, and it made him want to roll his eyes. But he was also curious to know what part of their furtive conversation was based in fact, and what Relta was merely making up to impress the apparently _very_ naive housekeeper.

“What who might have done?” he asked, coming around the corner before either of them could hear him. He made sure to sound as stern as possible; it might not work on Quark anymore, but it certainly had an effect on misbehaving Cardassians just barely out of adolescence. He looked to the startled housekeeper, who was frozen in wide-eyed terror. “Kren could use some help upstairs,” he told her—gently, because she appeared only seconds from tears.

“Legate Damar,” Relta rasped nervously. He had almost flattened himself against the wall. “How—how can I—what can I do for you, sir?”

“You can answer my question. What is this about a Starfleet officer being murdered?”

“Sir, I thought you knew—”

“Clearly not. Enlighten me.” Damar set aside the box of trash and crossed his arms. While he waited for an answer, he mentally calculated how long Relta had been working for him, and how long it might take to find a new assistant. Perhaps one who wasn’t so interested in the other members of the household staff.

“I’ve only heard rumors, sir, but—but they say a human officer was murdered aboard the station while we were there, and that it was part of a plot to frame Cardassia.” He stopped for a moment, apparently waiting for Damar to say something. When that didn’t happen, he pitched his voice low and said, “It was _Bajorans_ , sir.”

The way Relta said it left no room to mistake how he felt about Bajorans. Loathing. Hatred. Damar could hear himself, only a few years earlier, speaking of them in the exact same tone. The sneer in his voice, as though the word alone was something that tasted foul on his tongue. He had spoken of them that way to _Kira_ , of all people. The woman he loved more than his own life. Who had agreed to marry him, even knowing that to all the people around him she would only ever be some  _Bajoran_.

Now he was listening to the echo of his old hatred in his own home.

“Get out.”

Relta reeled back like he had been struck. “Sir?”

“Report to Kren, he’ll handle the termination proceedings. Tell him I said it’s time for a change.” Damar turned on his heel; he left the box of garbage where he’d set it down. It was heavier than he’d expected, anyway. “And try not to harass any of my staff on your way out,” he called over his shoulder.

 

  
“Should you be drinking that?” Kren asked as he entered the office.

Damar reached out and used a finger to tip the twisted glass bottle back and forth. “Synthetic,” he said. “A gift from… someone.” He shrugged one shoulder as he lifted his glass and swallowed the remainder of the syrupy liquid. “None of the unpleasant side effects of the real thing. None of the flavor, either.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You know,” Damar began, reaching for the bottle to pour another glass for some reason, “I used to think that being powerless to do anything was the worst thing I could ever find myself faced with as a leader.”

Kren took a seat on the other side of the desk. For once he didn’t prop his massive legs on the black glass. He turned the bottle, eyeing it critically. “I’m guessing you’ve realized otherwise,” he muttered.

Damar leaned back in his chair and frowned at the glass. “I’ve realized that the worst thing I could be faced with is being fully aware of who my enemy is, and knowing there is _still_  nothing I can do about it. Being powerless and unaware is so much simpler.”

“Are you certain there isn’t any alcohol in this bottle?”

He scoffed at the suggestion. “I’m sure. I would be much happier if there were.” He watched as Kren lifted the bottle to his nose and gave it a sniff anyway. “I’ve been following the newscasts all afternoon,” he said. “Most are confirming the same things Relta told me: a dead Starfleet officer, a Bajoran plot to frame Cardassia. But there’s more to it than even he knew.  _Tom Riker_ , a Maquis rebel and mass murderer, allied with Bajoran extremists and at large somewhere in striking distance of defenseless Cardassian colonies.”

“They’re in a Federation Runabout,” Kren said with a derisive snort. “I don’t think they’ll manage to topple the Union tomorrow.”

“No, probably not. But that isn’t really the point, is it?”

Lifting his hands in concession, Kren asked, “So what is?”

“That this is never going to end. Lasting peace between Bajor and Cardassia is, at best, a sad punchline to a joke none of us have ever been able to understand.” He finished another glass, grimacing at the sour taste as it slid down his throat. “In the end, hate is an unstoppable force. People will seize any reason at all to keep feeding those embers, clinging to their hatred because it’s comforting and familiar. Because it doesn’t threaten their understanding of the way things have _always_ been. We bred hate on Bajor, and now it's taken on a life of its own. It feeds itself from both ends like some sort of... grotesque monster.”

Kren was quiet for a time after Damar finished his rant. When he did speak, it was preceded by a soft chuckle. Like he was remembering something fondly. “Do you know that little fellow from the station? Human. Scared to death of everything, including your girlfriend.”

“Future wife,” Damar corrected. As an afterthought he added, “Symbolically.”

“Symbolically,” Kren agreed. “Anyway, I believe the little man’s name is Ross. He showed up at Quark’s one evening, lost everything but the clothes on his back before I had finished my first drink. Quark had no use for those," he explained. "I felt sorry for the boy, so I staked him, and to my surprise he managed to return my latinum not ten minutes later. Of course he lost it all again before I left.”

“Is there a point to this story?”

“But while we played— _I_ played, he lost—he told me about his time at Starfleet Academy, and a girl he’d been in deeply love with while he was there. Niece of some famous captain, I think he said. He told me she was ‘out of his league,’ and between you and me, based on his description of her I’m inclined to believe he was right about that.” Kren laughed at his own joke, and as usual he didn’t seem to care that Damar wasn’t laughing with him. “But, he continued, clearing his throat, “he said something at one point, about halfway through the last game. It stuck with me. I liked it, so I asked him what it was and what it meant.”

Damar had flattened his lips into a thin line. There was no use trying to stop Kren from dispensing his strange idea of wisdom. He’d tried and failed enough times in the past to know better. “And?” he sighed, hoping to end the story sooner. “What was it?”

A wide grin spread across Kren’s face, breaking into a toothy smile. “ _Bullshit_ ,” he announced proudly.

Damar shot him a flat look. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s a human expression, and the only human you’ve spent any real time with is Captain Sisko. Who," he added, "I’d personally wager is less human than you or I at this point after his stay with the Prophets.” He made a show of his uneasiness with a dramatic shudder. “Frightening to think of what he might know. But as I was saying, you have decided that no one can be shaken of their hate as a way to absolve yourself of responsibility for trying to make it happen. _That_ is bullshit.”

Sighing, Damar put a hand to his forehead and tried to will away the headache that was rapidly forming. Maybe he was wrong; maybe the kanar hadn’t been so synthetic after all. “People don’t simply decide to change, Kren.”

“They do when they finally understand the reasons to. When they're faced with the undeniable truth of those words. I’m proof of that.”

“Right.” There was a vague tingling sensation crawling across his skin. Damar resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. “And I suppose someone just explained it to you until you understood.”

From his peripheral he saw Kren nod. “That’s exactly what happened,” he said. He then cocked his head back and forth a few times. “More or less.”

“Something tells me less,” Damar murmured. It was suddenly difficult to form the words, and he couldn’t understand why.

Kren leaned forward in his seat. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine.”

“Legate?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I don’t think the kanar is sitting well with me, that’s all.” He waved away Kren’s concern with a dismissive gesture. Or he tried to; his arm would no longer move the way he wanted.

“Damar, you’re not making any sense.” Kren’s voice was closer, and at the same time sounded so much farther away. “Look at me.”

He was about to answer that he _couldn’t_ for some reason, when all at once the the whole room seemed to tilt sideways and simply disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is what it seems. And it is. But it isn't.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do you guys let me go about my life like I don't have typos to fix.

The first thing he was aware of was light. Bright light, burning directly into the backs of his eyes from above. He winced and jerked away. Almost immediately a wave of panic struck him like a hammer blow, and nothing felt right. He was confused, his thoughts muddled, but certain details—gray walls and sleek black panels—were crystal clear. He tried to remember where he’d been just a moment before, but the memory slipped through his fingers like sand. Elusive, like a dream remembered upon waking. It was there, he could feel it, he just couldn’t _touch it_.

“Where,” he tried to ask, but his mouth was dry, and his tongue felt too heavy to move. His own voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Distantly he registered that his face was wet.

“You’re awake, good,” he heard a familiar voice call from nearby.

What Damar meant to say to that was, “Bashir.” What he actually said came out as more of a shushing sound.

“Close!” the doctor announced, sounding strangely pleased. “You’re doing remarkably well considering the condition you were in when we arrived on Cardassia. Control over your finer motor functions and more articulated speech patterns shouldn’t take long to return. Rest will help.”

Damar wanted to ask what had happened, but after two unsuccessful attempts to speak, there seemed like little reason to try a third time. Instead he looked up at the doctor plaintively.

“You had a seizure,” Bashir explained in the voice he reserved for bedside visits. “Rather severe, in fact. To answer what I’m certain would be your next question: it was Kren who contacted the _Defiant_. I believe he said something about not trusting your doctors to treat a sick vole.” He paused. “The actual wording of it was considerably stronger, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I paraphrase in order to leave out the more vulgar details.”

Had he the strength, Damar would have sat up in shock—not at the news of Kren’s unorthodox actions, he expected that. But a _seizure?_ He’d barely been seriously ill a day in his life! At least not until Moren Kael and his damned shears had quite literally opened him up to a slew of poison-related ailments. Nearly every health issue he’d been forced to contend with since then had been related to that one injury, Nelara’s failed attempts to poison him notwithstanding, and all were under control. He hadn’t even suffered so much as a sour stomach in months. Why a seizure, and why so suddenly, without any warning? For that matter, how long had he been unconscious? It only felt like moments to him, but the _Defiant_ would have been hours away at maximum warp. He found it nearly impossible to do any sort of calculations in his head at the moment, but a rough guess told him it could have been as long as half a day. What had happened to him in that time, and would it happen again? All these things he wanted to ask the doctor, but couldn’t.

Instead, he was forced to listen to Bashir explain the specifics of the _Defiant’s_ course change back to Cardassia Prime. At least it gave him some idea of how much time he’d missed.

“We were approaching Bajoran space when the _Defiant_ responded to Kren’s distress call. Of course we immediately returned to Cardassia Prime at maximum warp,” he explained.

Damar gave him what he meant to be a questioning look.

“Yes, Kira’s orders,” Bashir confirmed.

Steeling himself for what was likely to be more disappointment, Damar tried to ask, “How?” This time the word was mostly recognizable, which was encouraging. He hoped the doctor might understand what he was actually asking: _how had this happened?_

Bashir seemed, if anything, uncomfortable with the question. That was _not_ encouraging. “Well,” he started, looking away as though hoping something might come to him quickly if he stalled for time. “You see, it’s complicated.”

Damar continued to stare at him.

The doctor relented. “The truth is, I’m not really sure. However, I do know its likely origins.” He paused. “You recall Garak’s plan—his backup plan, for lack of a better way to describe it.”

Damar nodded. Of course he remembered; Garak’s fail-safe, intended to ensure that Damar would still die whether or not Garak himself was able to pull the trigger. Damar had spent months unknowingly ingesting a chemical reactant covertly fed to him by Nelara, all to ensure that he wouldn’t leave Derna alive. It might have worked, too, had it not been for Bashir and Tastha recognizing the foreign compound in his system. He had come close to death many times in his life, but no attempt had ever felt so personal. He grimaced at the doctor in answer.

“Yes, well, we neutralized the first part of the compound assuming it to be a failed poison, as I explained to Garak. By bonding it with a counteractive agent, we were able to nullify the fatal reaction intended upon exposure to the catalyst. Presumably, most of it would have been expelled from your system within a day or two of the treatment. But the compound was designed to remain in your system for a prolonged period after ingestion, possibly owing to Garak’s concern that Nelara’s duplicity might be uncovered before he could enact the next part of his plan. Unbeknownst to us at the time, some of it remained behind. A negligible amount when rendered inert by the counteractive agent, but now it appears as though that agent is breaking down—”

Damar groaned, cutting off the doctor’s explanation. Yes, he understood. What he _didn’t_ know was what it would mean for him. He wanted to ask how bad it would be, what else might happen, but Bashir wasn’t looking at him anymore, and communicating such a complex question was nearly impossible in his current state.

“For now,” Bashir said, plucking away at a padd, “you’re stable. I’ve done what I can to minimize any potential damage.”

 _For now_. He was certain those two words held a great deal more meaning than the doctor’s optimistic tone implied.

“I need to run a few more tests, but I’m confident I will be able to find an answer and get you back on your feet. It may be as simple as introducing a new form of the counteractive agent to your system.” Bashir smiled at him, but it did little to ease the anxiety crawling across Damar’s brain like many-legged insects. Something he attributed as much to the disappointing news as the clinging sensation of _wrongness_ still enveloping his mind. Evidently sensing as much, Bashir reached out and put a hand on Damar’s shoulder. A familiar gesture. His words filled with sympathy, he added, “You managed to go almost two years without experiencing a reaction, Damar. It’s entirely possible this was an isolated incident.”

Damar’s answer was a disbelieving grunt—he was never so lucky—but he allowed himself to relax a bit regardless. He would never admit it to the man directly, but he had the utmost faith in Bashir’s medical expertise. After all, the doctor had saved his life twice already, and it looked as though they were rapidly heading toward a third. Granted, the first two times had been with the aid of Doctor Tastha at his side… Damar tried to think of something else, lest he descend into paranoia and demand that they detour to Bajor to pick up the old crone.

He was just considering how best to ask Bashir if he could bring Kira down to Sickbay when the doctor, once again demonstrating his uncanny ability to divine exactly what Damar was thinking, said, “I’ll inform the colonel that you’re awake. I’m sure you would like to see her.”

Agreeing seemed like a concession of some kind, and Damar stubbornly refused to grant the doctor even that much, though he wasn’t sure why. He settled on a firm nod, instead. With a wink that made Damar want to roll his eyes, Bashir disappeared, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the headache that loomed menacingly in the back of his skull.

A seizure. It made him feel weak, despite knowing its roots lay in betrayal. And while whatever damage it had wrought to his body or his brain was apparently not as serious as he had feared, it was humiliating. He had already determined that the wetness he’d felt upon waking had been tears. Bashir had tactfully declined to mention it, but he certainly would have noticed. So Damar had _two_ things to be ashamed of. Perhaps three. He wondered if Kira would come to him concerned, or angry that he had been injured again. After considering the matter for a few minutes he settled on a mixture of both. That was more her way, after all.

When she did appear, however, Kira seemed neither angry nor worried. Her face was set in a hard but unreadable mask. He gave her a questioning look, and her expression softened somewhat. “How are you feeling?” she asked, much gentler than he would have expected, given the way she had entered Sickbay.

He shrugged lightly. Bashir, sweeping in from whatever he’d been doing at a nearby panel on the wall, said, “He’s having a little difficulty with hard consonants at the moment. I would limit any questions to those that can be answered with _yes_ or _no_.”

Damar eyed him in aggravation, but Bashir only smiled as though he’d done Damar some great favor.

Kira took the doctor’s advice to heart, however. “Does anything hurt?” she asked.

Damar shook his head. It was true; he didn’t _hurt_ , exactly, although he wasn’t comfortable by any means. More than anything he felt anxious, and his skin was still tingling. Not painful, but certainly frustrating. It made concentrating more difficult than he liked, especially with Kira standing at his bedside.

“Do you need anything?”

In reply, Damar slowly, carefully, reached his hand toward hers. With what little strength he could muster, he took her hand in his. When he looked up, she was smiling at him. All traces of worry had vanished.

“That’s good,” she said. “I think I can work with that.”

At that moment he wanted nothing more than to tell her that he loved her; to hold her, kiss her, and feel the warmth she radiated like a small, powerful star. But the anxious feeling in his chest was growing and spreading with each second, and the air felt too thick to breathe. Damar tried to tell Bashir that something was wrong, but he looked over and found the doctor already at his side, tricorder out and scanning.

“It’s happening again,” Bashir said, sobering quickly. He began issuing orders to someone Damar couldn’t see, and as the doctor’s voice slowly disappeared behind a wall of heavy silence, Damar was certain he heard him order Kira from the room. After that there was nothing.

 

*

 

Kira sat hunched on the edge of the bunk. She had fought to stay at Damar’s side, but even she knew that Julian’s threat to call security had been very real, and very enforceable regardless of her rank. With everything else going on, the last thing she wanted was to deal with more people crowding Sickbay. She didn’t want security to see Damar in that condition. She didn’t want _anyone_ to see him like that, if only because she knew how much he would hate it. Her own memory of it made her want to double over and slip her head between her knees.

She felt helpless.

The door opened, and Ezri stepped inside the small cabin. “Hey,” she greeted, half-raising one arm to wave. “I’ve got an update for you.”

Kira lifted her head, but didn’t ask anything. After a moment Ezri said, “They’ve got Damar stabilized. He’s still unconscious, and Julian says he wants to keep him that way until we’re back on the station.”

“So, we’re taking him back with us?”

“I don’t think there’s much choice, do you?” Ezri shrugged. “If Julian is having this much difficult with him, what chance would Damar’s doctors have? Even Kren doesn’t think very highly of them, apparently. Although,” she lifted one shoulder, “I guess that’s not saying much.”

She was quiet for a while after that, and Kira used the time to consider the situation. On Cardassia, Damar would be in the hands of physicians who had never dealt with any of his injuries directly. Only their aftermath. On the station, he might be the target of an assassination plot. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” she muttered.

Ezri bit down on both lips and made a humming sound. “You think he’d prefer to stay here,” she said after a moment. It wasn’t a question, but there was room for an answer if Kira wanted to provide one.

“I think, with everything going on, he’d feel like he was letting someone down by going back with us. Maybe everyone. I’m not even sure it’s safe for him on the station. I don’t know if it’s safe for him anywhere but on _this ship_. And,” she laughed darkly, “on top of everything else, I somehow feel like this is all my fault. Even though I know how incredibly _stupid_ that is. After all, I pushed him into this. I put him here.”

“You didn’t push him into anything. You may have gotten the ball rolling when you found him on Bajor, but we both know Starfleet had a hand in it, and they would have found a way to get him back in power with or without your help. Besides, Garak already knew he was on Bajor, if not exactly where he was hiding. If anything, your interference saved his life. Plus,” she added, raising a finger thoughtfully, “if Damar really had been set on not returning to Cardassia, I’m sure he would have found a way to get out of it.”

Kira couldn’t help but chuckle at Ezri’s flattering assessment of Damar. “I think you’re giving him a lot more credit than he’s due, Dax. He isn’t known for making the best decisions.”

“So that bracelet, it’s just a keepsake, then?” Ezri asked knowingly. When Kira didn’t answer right away, she came over to the bunk and sat down beside her. “Julian is working on this. If there’s an answer, he’ll find it.” She wrapped an arm around Kira’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

Kira lifted her own hand and grasped Ezri’s over her shoulder. “I know,” she lied.

 

 

Their return to the station two days later was heralded by a hail of bad news.

“They can’t just _stop it!_ Not after all the work we’ve done—”

“They can, and they are, Colonel,” the captain said matter-of-factly. “The Council feels it’s in everyone’s best interests if this matter is dealt with before Bajor gains official member status. You and I may not agree with that, but there isn’t anything we can do.”

“But we’re so close, and there are so many people—entire provinces have made huge sacrifices to prepare for this transition. They’re expecting it to happen in days, Captain. Not weeks or months. Who knows how long it will take to figure out what’s going on? We don’t even have the first clue where Tom and the others went!” She threw her hands up in the air and let them smack against her sides dramatically. It was a little over the top, she knew that. But the captain only arched a brow at her theatrics.

“Captain, you have to speak to them,” she continued to plead. “You’re the Emissary. They can’t just lock Bajor out of the Federation because of one incident on the station.” Sisko’s importance to the Bajoran faith wasn’t likely to sway the Federation Council, but she was desperate.

The captain looked at her with sympathy. “You’ve been gone for almost a week, Colonel. There have been... developments.”

Kira straightened up. The anger drained from her—along with all the color in her face, she was sure. Developments? “What developments?” she asked carefully. There were a number of very dangerous things that he could be talking about. Anything from further evidence of Cardassia’s part in the assassination of a Starfleet officer to concrete proof that there were parties on Bajor conspiring to frame them for it. None of the possibilities were appealing, especially if they meant a full stop to Bajor’s entry into the Federation.

“I’ll let Lieutenant Wilson fill you in. She’s waiting for you in the Security Office.”

“Wilson? What is she…” Realization struck her and she knew the face she made was inappropriate, but it couldn’t be helped. “Why?” she demanded. “Ilpal has handled security on this station since Odo left, and she has never _once_ done anything less than her very best!”

“I understand that, and I’m not any happier about this situation than you are. But the decision has been taken out of my hands.” He spread his palms wide to emphasize his point. “I would rather none of this had happened the way it has, but we’re past that now, Colonel.” Uncharacteristically, the captain made a face, betraying his own disappointment. Of course, she realized with an inward cringe: this was his mission, and part of his task as Emissary. The delay had to feel especially personal to him. Lowering his voice, he continued. “I have absolute, unshakable faith in Ilpal. But a Starfleet officer was murdered on this station, and the prime suspects include two of her deputies. My opinion about Ilpal Tema doesn’t have any place here. In fact, we’re lucky she was only removed from the investigation.”

He was right, she knew he was. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. “Is this _new development_ something I’m going to like?” she asked.

He started to shake his head, and then he cocked a small smile at her. “I think,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “it’s something that might not surprise you.”

 

 

Unfortunately for Kira, Wilson’s ‘discovery’ was far more troubling than she had been led to believe.

“These transmissions go on for _hours_ ,” Wilson explained, throwing her feet up on the desk with one ankle crossed over the other. She had her hands folded behind her head, like she was relaxing at the beach on Risa. “Encoded, hidden between layers and layers of data probably meant to mask them as part of the archival exchange with Bajor. And,” she added, smirking like a hara cat with a fresh kill, “routed through _this_ office.”

To anyone unaware of the somewhat clandestine goings-on of certain members of the station’s senior staff, it looked like pretty damning evidence. In fact, it looked like Ilpal wasn’t just incompetent—appointing deputies who had turned out to be murderous traitors—but actually _complicit_ in the alleged plot that led to Alard’s death. The captain was right, it was a stroke of luck that she had only been asked to step down temporarily.

Wilson continued, and it only got worse: “With a little digging, I was able to trace all of them to the First Minister’s private residence on Bajor. We’re looking at a conspiracy, Colonel.”

What Wilson didn’t know, and what Kira definitely could not tell her, was that those transmissions hadn’t been a part of some grand conspiracy by the Bajoran government to frame Cardassia. In reality they were nothing more than a few harmless, late-night calls between lovers. Damar had been on Bajor, a guest in Shakaar’s home, and Kira had been trapped behind a mountain of work on the station. Neither of them had been patient enough to wait until she could find an excuse to join him. While extended transmissions between the station and Cardassia Prime might have piqued someone’s interest, she had assumed that no one would think twice about any placed to her own home world. And they probably wouldn’t have, if not for the brutal murder of a Starfleet officer only days later.

The unfortunate part of all this was that Kira had never known Ilpal was concealing the transmissions. If she had, she might have been able to do something ahead of time and prevent anyone from finding them. As it was, an ultimately harmless act intended to help out a friend had turned into the key evidence needed to undermine all the work the constable had done as the station’s head of security. Pinning the blame on Bajor in the process. Worst of all, Kira had no idea how to make it right. Admitting the truth would reveal everything about her relationship with Damar, and could potentially create chaos in the Cardassian political system. Of course, there was always the possibility that outcome was exactly what Tom and his co-conspirators had been hoping to achieve in the first place, but she was confident that the two lining up was only a coincidence. Tom couldn’t have known about the two of them beforehand, and even if he had somehow managed to put the pieces together after his arrival, the window of opportunity to take advantage of that fact was simply too narrow.

“It’s clear the conspirators used these transmissions to coordinate their plan,” Wilson went on. She was lost in her own meandering speculation, making gestures in the air at nothing as she spoke. It was a habit Kira had always been able to ignore. Now she found it infuriating. “What isn’t clear is how this benefits Bajor. Of course, it could be about nothing more complicated than revenge.” Wilson abruptly sat up and focused all of her attention on Kira. “Obviously this matter is personal to you, Colonel, and normally I would advise that you be kept away from the investigation. You have intimate ties to the Bajoran government, and your history as a terrorist makes your very presence... troubling.”

Kira waited for Wilson to continue. When it became apparent that there would be no attempt to avoid deeply insulting her, she stood straight and said, “Well, I certainly appreciate that you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

Wilson waved a hand dismissively. “Captain Sisko ordered me to keep you in the loop. I don’t have a choice.”

“Did he,” Kira said. She could feel the anger burning like a hot spike in the center of her head. Wilson was obviously more concerned with proving her own ridiculous theories than uncovering the actual truth, and it was going to cost Bajor. It was difficult not to hate her at that moment.

“I had intended to keep your involvement to a minimum anyway, but it’s possible you might provide some insight into the first minister’s potential motives for conspiring to betray the Federation.”

Kira could feel her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. _Calm. Stay calm_ , she reminded herself. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” she replied. Her hands ached to the bone.

“Oh?” Wilson asked. There was a condescending lilt to her voice that Kira didn’t like _at all_. “And why is that?”

“Because the First Minister isn’t involved in any plot to betray the Federation,” she said with absolute certainty. “A handful of encoded transmissions placed a week before the murder isn’t concrete evidence of a conspiracy. And,” she added, planting her palms on the workstation to lean over the back, “I think you’ll find that any cooperation you might have received from the Bajoran government regarding the two deputies currently _suspected_ to be involved in Alard’s death will very quickly evaporate the moment you suggest otherwise.”

Wilson blanched, but she held her ground. “Are you threatening me, Colonel?”

“No. Not a threat, Lieutenant.” Kira shook her head slowly. “Only a prediction. But I wouldn’t take your odds to Quark if I were you.”

Both women were silent then, and Wilson busied herself with something behind the desk that Kira couldn’t see. She no longer seemed willing—or able—to look Kira in the eye, which was mildly satisfying. It wasn’t going to accomplish anything, but it felt damned good.

“Noted,” Wilson said when she finally spoke again. “Thank you for your input, Colonel. I can take it from here.”

With that, the conversation was clearly over.

Kira stormed out of the security office, blood boiling over with the sort anger she couldn’t remember feeling in years. She was furious with Wilson for jumping to all the worst conclusions and yet _somehow_ finding support for her idiotic conspiracy theory in a good deed gone wrong. She was angry that Ilpal had done something kind and it was probably going to get her sent back to Bajor. But most of all, she was mad at herself for pushing Wilson to the point that she had effectively barred Kira from the investigation as well. Oh, she would receive regular status updates, of course—the captain’s orders superseded any dislike the two might feel for one another. But status updates weren’t going to be enough, she needed to be involved. Too many people were counting on her to keep a hand in the investigation. At least Wilson’s ‘evidence’ had effectively cleared Damar, but unfortunately that didn’t make him any safer. And it certainly wouldn’t help anyone if Tom and the others decided to launch some sort of offensive.

Thinking of Damar reminded her that she had intended to stop by the Infirmary to see him before she was waylaid by Wilson’s nonsense. Julian had asked her to give Damar some space after their return to the station, and Kira had done so. Grudgingly. Now she wasn’t sure she was in the right frame of mind for a friendly visit; if she couldn’t control her anger, she would wind up taking it out on him, and he deserved better. He didn’t, not really, but she was determined to withhold her temper for his sake anyway. He was sick, and even Julian seemed at a loss about what to do. His most recent report on Damar’s condition hadn’t exactly been encouraging.

_“The working hypothesis of a breakdown in the efficacy of the synthetic counteractive agent has proven verifiably false; blood samples taken from the patient show no marked presence of the initial compound to which the newly introduced agent might bond. More detailed micro-cellular scans will be required to formulate a new hypothesis.”_

Which amounted to a lot of nothing, in Kira’s opinion. She wasn’t upset with Julian for not having all the answers, and she knew he was working nonstop to find them, but his inability to pin down the cause of Damar’s seizures still weighed heavily on her mind. She preferred problems that could be identified and fixed with the fewest possible steps.

To make matters worse, rumors were already beginning to spread that the Bajoran government had sponsored an attempt on Damar’s life. After he had fallen ill on Cardassia, Kira was sure that similar stories would be circulating there, with or without any evidence to support them. It probably wouldn’t be long before people started to put all the various details together to form a completely incorrect picture, and then they wouldn’t just be facing an enemy they couldn’t find, but their own mutual distrust of one another. She was annoyed about that, too; all the progress Bajor and Cardassia had managed to make in three years, potentially destroyed by a handful of people in less than twenty-six hours. One day had been enough to undo it all.

She unconsciously fingered the bracelet around her wrist. If the information about the secret transmissions to Bajor had been leaked as well, there was no telling who could be trusted with the truth about her relationship with Damar. Certainly not Wilson. Kira thought it was likely the captain knew, and his cryptic comment during their meeting had all but confirmed as much, but if he did, he wasn’t coming forward to volunteer the truth. He definitely understood the risks of revealing the true nature of those transmissions, but could they afford not to? If she could only find something that would clear Bajor of all suspicion—if she could find Tom and the others and bring them back, present the real culprits to Wilson and let her wring the truth out of them...

Kira sneered at nothing as she thought of Wilson, leaning back in the chair in the security office like she was on leave. Ilpal never would have let a leak happen under her watch. She wouldn’t have stopped until she had the answers, either. She had been trained by Odo, and _nothing_  had ever gotten past him. In a way, having her behind that desk was a lot like having Odo around, despite the vast differences in their personalities. The thought should have brought her some comfort, but thinking of Odo only made Kira feel worse, not better; they really could have used him at that moment. If nothing else, being a non-Bajoran, he might have been allowed to remain in charge of the investigation.

Before she realized it, Kira’s aimless and angry march along the Promenade had taken her to the Infirmary. She stood outside, staring in without really seeing anything, wondering if she should just turn around and retreat to her quarters. It was Julian’s voice that kept her from following through.

“Colonel. I wasn’t expecting to see you yet,” he said. He was idly massaging one hand with the other as he approached her. She wondered how long he had been working. “Damar is just waking up. Only a nap,” he clarified quickly when Kira’s eyes went wide. “Some much needed sleep. If you would like, I can tell him you’re here.”

“No,” she said, waving a hand.

“No? I’m certain he’d like to see you—”

“I don’t think I’m…” She let the thought trail off and remained silent.

But Julian watched her until she lost her nerve and looked away, and then he said, “I can’t imagine that returning to your quarters, alone, will make you feel any better than spending some time with a loved one. Things might even look better once you’ve had a chance to slow down and take some time to breathe.”

She shook her head. “It’s bad, Julian,” was all she could bring herself to say.

He nodded. “So I’ve heard. But this—” he gestured in the direction of the back room, “—is where you’re needed. And I think perhaps it’s where _you_ need to be.”

After a moment more to consider the (meager and ultimately unsatisfying) benefits of a quick retreat, Kira relented. She bobbed her head in a nod and followed Julian into the back, where Damar was still lying in a biobed. At least he was sitting up, which she was sure pleased him more than he would ever admit. He didn’t take well to feeling helpless. That was something they had in common.

“We should just put your name on one of these beds permanently,” she quipped, walking up to him like nothing was wrong. Damar would see through it, of course, but that didn’t matter. She just wanted to feel like everything was fine, if only for a moment. She had a feeling he would appreciate it too.

Damar lifted a hand and pointed two beds over. “I prefer that one,” he said. “It isn’t quite so lumpy.”

“ _You’re_ lumpy,” Julian muttered. He was switching out hypospray tubes nearby.

Giving the doctor a sidelong glance, Damar smirked and looked back up at Kira. “How is everything?” he asked.

“Terrible. Here?”

“Well, I have Doctor Bashir’s constant company.” He didn’t elaborate on that answer, and his tone indicated that he did not see it as a positive side effect of his confinement.

Kira looked over at Julian, who was also smiling. Without looking up, he said, “I had nearly forgotten what a pleasure it was to have Damar in my care. Nearly.” He reached over and injected Damar with something without warning. “To anesthetize you for the biopsy,” he replied to Damar’s sputtered objections.

It was nice to see they were getting along as usual. In the past their friendly bickering had quickly gone from amusing to annoying, leaving her wishing she had some polite means of escape, but this time the back-and-forth was actually helping; Kira found herself relaxing, even smiling at their antics. “Have you had any luck narrowing down the cause of these seizures?” she asked the doctor as he moved about behind Damar.

“With any luck,” Julian said as he prepped another piece of equipment, “this final series of tests will give us our answer.” He completed his task and set everything in a tray to the side of the biobed. “I have to make a few minor adjustments before I can begin. I’ll give you two a moment alone.” He gave Kira a friendly smile and offered Damar a congenial pat on the shoulder before he disappeared into the front room.

“Careful,” she warned, “you might accidentally wind up friends.”

“If I weren’t certain he already believes we are, I might be offended. Lieutenant Dax seems to be under the same impression.”

“Ezri likes you.”

She could tell that the frown that tugged at the corners of Damar’s mouth was only there for her benefit. “I didn’t expect that you would come with a host of acquaintances. My only social contribution to our relationship has been Kren, which hardly seems fair to either of us.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, “you befriended Shakaar all on your own.”

“The other way around, I think,” Damar muttered. He was quiet for a moment, watching his own fingers as he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket lying across his legs. “I’m sorry about Alard,” he said, still looking down at his lap. “He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die that way.”

“He was.” She took his hand in hers, as much to still his restless fingers as to offer support. “He liked you, you know. I still can’t figure out why.”

Damar managed a small smile at that. “I’m at a loss as well,” he said quietly. “Was there a service of some kind?”

Kira nodded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about it before you left. We were trying to keep things quiet.” She thought about that and scoffed. “For all the good it’s done.”

“Yes, the doctor told me about some of the more outlandish rumors. And a few of those with a little more credibility.” He looked up at her, more focused than he had been the last time she saw him. “Do you really think those deputies recruited Riker to their cause so quickly?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Gether was new, he’d only transferred to the station recently. But I worked with Vezra.” Kira laughed bitterly. “She was assigned to your security detail! To think, to even _imagine_ that she would take part in something like this—the murder a Starfleet officer…” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but there was something about Tom’s story that didn’t adding up during the debriefing. I should have looked deeper, made him explain himself. Instead, I let him bait me into an argument. I let him distract me. If I hadn’t done that, if I had kept my cool and focused on finding the truth—”

“You aren’t the reason Alard is dead.” Damar squeezed her hand. “They are.”

“We’ll never know, will we? He’s dead, and maybe if I had forced Tom to give me the truth, he’d have been in a holding cell that night, and Alard would be alive.”

“Riker may have been a hostage,” he offered.

Kira shook her head. She knew better than to entertain that kind of delusion. “Thomas Riker is a lot of things, but I think even he would object to being cast in the role of victim.”

“He spent the better part of the last decade as a prisoner, Kira. He is a victim.”

She looked down at him and blinked, sure he could see her surprise. “Do you really think that? After what he did?”

“Being guilty and being wronged aren’t mutually exclusive,” Damar said with a light shrug. “You’re probably right, Riker is probably behind this somehow. And you may soon find yourself faced with an unpleasant choice if that is the case. But in the meantime, you owe it to Alard—and yourself—to pursue the facts based on every possibility. Not just the one that best supports the narrative you’ve chosen.”

That was exactly what Wilson had done, wasn’t it? She had decided on the ending, and then immediately set out to write the version of events that would take her there. Kira could admit to herself that she was uncomfortable facing the possibility she might be guilty of the same mistake. She wondered whether Tom had been a little bit right—if not about what she what she was doing, then maybe _why_. It didn’t mean he wasn’t still wrong, but it didn’t mean she had been entirely right, either.

“Did Julian tell you that?” she asked, instead of addressing what he'd said. There was no reason he had to know how much she was doubting herself at that moment.

He shook his head. “Believe it or not, it was Kren.”

She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t think he would blame you,” Damar said. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Doctor Bashir is going to be taking a number of samples for testing when he returns. If you’re comfortable with it, would you stay?”

“As long as Julian doesn’t have any objections, I’ll stay all night if you want me to.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a work of science fiction. Please consult a real doctor before attempting to treat injured Cardassians.

“An unmanned Federation runabout was spotted six days ago by a Boslic freighter passing the second moon of Draygo IV. Seems they didn’t think to report it until they received our request for information about any Federation vessels in the area.”

The captain rubbed his right temple with two fingers while he looked over the information on the padd Kira had handed to him. “Didn’t think to report it,” he repeated to himself, sighing. He tossed the padd onto his desk. “What do you think the chances are that they’re still on that moon?”

“Slim. But worth investigating. Even if they’re long gone, they may have left some clue indicating what their plans are, or where they’re going next.”

“Commander R’nel can take the _Defiant_ to investigate,” the captain said. He set the padd down on his desk. “It shouldn’t take long to determine if Riker and the others were there.” After a moment he looked up at her and asked, “How is Damar?”

“Giving Julian a refresher course in anger management, but stable. There have been a couple of minor incidents.” She hesitated. “Sir, with your permission, I’d like to command the _Defiant_ for the mission to Draygo IV.”

The captain looked over from where his eyes had wandered to the middle distance. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Kira nodded. “Absolutely.” She sat down in the nearest seat and leaned forward with her arms crossed over her knees. The whole ordeal felt like it was leeching the energy directly from her body, but she knew she couldn’t afford to let that slow her down. “Julian says that Damar isn’t in any immediate danger, and I can’t just sit back and wait for all of this to unravel on its own. Bajor is being blamed for a crime that it didn’t commit, Captain. We’re _this_ close to finally joining the Federation, and now, suddenly, everything is up in the air again. I need to be involved.”

She finished her speech—not exactly what she had practiced the night before when she anticipated that the captain would try to offer her distance from the investigation—and waited for his reply. He had tucked his chin into the crook of his thumb and forefinger, and he watched her intently for a moment before he dropped his hand and said, “Be ready to depart within the hour, Colonel.”

Kira smiled gratefully. She was just about to thank him when he held up a hand and stopped her.

“Lieutenant Wilson will be accompanying you.”

She frowned, but bit back on the first thing she wanted to say, and only answered with a curt and an appropriately diplomatic, “Of course.”

“You are to work together.”

“I understand.”

“And she will take point on the investigation.”

Kira launched out of the chair with an indignant sound. “Captain, with all due respect, Wilson’s idea of _investigating_ is to close her eyes and pick a suspect. Having her there is one thing, but—” She stopped herself. “Sir, you know as well as I do that there’s a reason Ilpal kept her at arm’s length.”

But the captain wasn’t swayed by her objections, no matter how passionately she presented them; he continued to stare her down, and eventually Kira simply ran out of steam. When it was clear she was done he simply repeated, “Wilson _will_ take point.”

She sighed and balanced her hands on her hips, letting her head fall between her shoulders. There was no point arguing—she knew that, the captain knew that—but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t give it a try anyway.

Captain Sisko continued. “You said it yourself, Colonel: Bajor is being blamed for a crime it didn’t commit, and I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention to what’s going on out there, but most people have already made up their minds. Now, you and I may not think that matters, but unfortunately there are more opinions out there than ours. Even if we come up with the proof needed to clear the Militia of having any hand in the murder of a Starfleet officer, how do you think it’s going to look when a Bajoran officer returns with _just_ the right evidence needed to immediately dismiss everyone’s suspicions? Don’t you think it would go a long way toward easing tensions if it was a Starfleet officer who made the discovery?”

“It shouldn’t matter who finds the evidence, only that it's found.”

“You’re right, it shouldn’t,” he agreed, “but it does. The Federation Council is not going to risk alienating its new neighbors before they’ve even been properly introduced.”

Kira arched a brow thoughtfully and said, “This is probably where Damar would remind everyone that the Federation has already more or less made itself at home in that neighborhood.”

That made the captain smile for some reason, and he shrugged lightly. “He wouldn’t exactly be wrong about that, either. But while you and I may see things for how they are, the Council sees things for how it believes they should be. That’s easy to do when you’re hundreds of light years away from what’s happening. Take Wilson and the _Defiant_ and bring me back something to go on, Colonel. Alard’s family deserves answers. Right now, everything else is secondary.”

 

 

The captain had been right, of course; finding Alard’s killer was their top priority. But with Tom Riker—a former Maquis terrorist with a not-insignificant body count under his belt—and two Bajoran deputies on the loose, that could change quickly. Tom had been willing to slaughter Cardassians largely unprovoked before, when his greatest motivation was his own bid for glory. Now, after nearly a decade in their custody? Kira could only imagine what he might do, and what crimes he could justify. If he was involved in the attack and the theft of the _Waimea_ , if his latest campaign had actually begun with the murder of an innocent man, then he was capable of anything.

“We’ll be in orbit of Draygo IV in six minutes,” Nog announced from the comm. “The second moon should be coming around to transporter range in another nine.”

“Nog, you’re with me,” Kira ordered. To Commander R’nel, she instructed, “Inform Lieutenant Wilson that we’ve arrived. Have her meet us at transporter pad two.”

R’nel responded with a sharp nod before swiftly sliding into the command chair. She took control of the bridge as Kira departed, and Nog fell into step behind her.

“I never thought I’d be involved in a second murder investigation on the station,” Nog muttered. They were on the turbolift, and over the whir of the moving carriage the silence was oppressively heavy. “I was friends with Eric.”

Kira was quiet. She didn’t know how to offer Nog the comfort he needed without making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. Tom and the others might get away. If they had abandoned the Runabout, if there was no trail to follow, they might never be found. In the end, she settled on, “He was a good man.”

From the corner of her eye she caught Nog glancing down at her wrist. When he saw that she had tracked his line of sight, he straightened up and looked ahead at the turbolift wall.

She continued to watch him, and after a moment he sighed and let his shoulders drop. “It’s none of my business,” he breathed out. “I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Nog. If you wanted to say something—”

He turned and faced her fully, just as the turbolift came to a stop. “I guess... I just don’t understand.”

It was hard not to laugh at that; she barely understood it herself. “Which part?” she asked.

Nog’s eyes scanning the floor between their feet for a few seconds before he looked up again and said, “He’s hard to like.”

A wide smile broke across Kira’s face, and she nodded. “So I’m not the only one who’s noticed?”

Nog smiled back at her. He held out his arm to let Kira pass into the corridor before him. “Well,” he said, once more falling into step behind her, “I may not understand your choice in mates, but I can probably still get you a great deal on several bolts of high grade Tholian silk.” He cleared his throat. “If you’re interested.”

 

*

 

Damar shifted his blanket back a few centimeters, pulling it up over his waist. It exposed his toes, and he sighed. He was sure Bashir had been trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible, but after spending several days together he wasn’t sure that he didn’t deserve it.

A glass of water lay within arms reach, as did a padd that Kira had brought him. It was linked to a database of literature, none of which he recognized or had any particular interest in reading. He knew that she knew that, and that in turn she knew that he would ignore all of the titles she had highlighted for him. Why, he wondered, did it seem as though introducing him to new hobbies was the singular goal of everyone he had been acquainted with for more than a month?

Unfortunately, apart from those two items, anything that Damar might make use of to pass the time was quite literally beyond his reach. Not that he had anything particular in mind, but a few more options might have been nice. Or a visitor. He might have even welcomed Quark’s presence, if only for a minute or two. Anything to break the monotony of the drab grey walls and countless machines working quietly around the room. Some of them he knew contained data pertaining to his own mysterious illness; perhaps results of the latest biopsy, which had required full anesthetization, unlike the others. He was still regaining full use of his limbs as a result, or else he might have gotten up and simply found something to pass the time on his own. He wasn’t bedridden, after all. He could, fading anesthetic notwithstanding, walk under his own power. And apart from the seemingly random seizures, which Bashir claimed were under control for the time being, he felt well enough. Keeping him confined to a biobed seemed unnecessary, and he had voiced this opinion to Bashir several times, as well as more than one of the nurses. None of them seemed to care.

Damar found himself wishing Kira had stayed. Let one of the others take the _Defiant_ to chase down Riker and his fugitive companions. But even before she had come to tell him she was going, he knew she wouldn’t allow the _Defiant_ to leave without her. There was too much at stake.

And yet he missed her. It had only been half a day, and he felt truly pathetic for it, but the hollow ache in his chest reminded him that there was a reason he had asked her to be his wife.

Damar ran a hand over his hair and sighed at himself. What was he going to do? He feared that he’d made everything so much worse by giving her that bracelet, and it wasn’t as though he could take it back. Not if he valued his life. But if the distance between them had been unbearable before, how much worse would it be knowing she was his and his alone, and he _still_ couldn’t reach out for her in the middle of the night? Couldn’t allow his gaze to linger too long where it might be seen? Why had he ever thought that asking her to marry him was the solution to their most insurmountable problem?

And why the _hell_ had she agreed? She was supposed to be the sensible one, or so Kren kept telling him. She should have known better. _He_ clearly couldn’t be trusted to make rational decisions.

The door opened, and Bashir came in carrying a small padd in both hands. Damar recognized it as the one he used for most of his work, and took with him seemingly everywhere. This time the doctor was clutching it tightly, as though it was vitally important that he not lose sight of what was on the screen. He slowly approached the chair closest to Damar’s bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked in that same gentle tone he used on most of his patients. There was something strange about it this time, though; a grave quality that set off a muted warning in the back of Damar’s mind. Bashir sat in the chair and placed the padd face-down on his own thigh while he waited for a reply.

“The same as I’ve felt since this ordeal started,” Damar answered honestly. He frowned up at Bashir. “What’s happened?” he asked. Something had obviously robbed the doctor of his customary good cheer, and there was no sense waiting any longer to find out what it was.

Bashir hunched his shoulders slightly and took a deep breath. He was steeling himself for something, and it did not appear to be anything Damar might want to hear. “I’ve got the results of the biopsy from this morning, Damar.”

“And?”

“It appears I was wrong. Very wrong.” He shook his head, as though he couldn’t quite understand how it had happened. There was pity in his eyes. And guilt.

Damar knew then what Bashir had come to tell him. “I’m dying,” he guessed. There was a quaver to his question that he wasn’t happy about. He’d always thought he would face death with more dignity. His real death, anyway.

There was a moment of protracted silence, broken only by the steady beep of a nearby console. Bashir drew in another deep breath and shook his head. “No, not... exactly.” He finally lifted the small padd and handed it over to Damar.

The screen was a jumble of different data sets; notes on the rate of cellular growth and decline and protein functions; a list of genetic sequencing information that Damar could just barely comprehend, and some formula that didn’t seem to have anything to do with what Damar had previously understood to be a side effect of Nelara’s poison. Why was Bashir making plans for… He peered at the screen. _Regenerative neural therapy?_ “What is this?” he asked, genuinely concerned now.

“My initial scans didn’t detect the damage because it’s is still very subtle. You’re actually quite lucky that you began having seizures, or we might never have known what was happening to you. Not until it was too late to save you.” He took the padd back when Damar held it out to him. For a few moments he scrolled through the endless information it contained, and then he shook his head. “I didn’t know it at the time, but when Doctor Tastha and I cleared your system of the reactant compound fed to you by Nelara, we failed to take into account the brain.”

Damar gave Bashir a skeptical look. “The brain?”

“Well, to be more specific, the blood-brain barrier. You see—” he leaned forward a bit, “—the counteractive agent worked almost exactly as we intended, but it wasn’t capable of passing the layer of endothilial cells protecting your brain tissue. I take full responsibility for that, I simply didn’t anticipate the resilient nature of Cardassian biology. It’s quite fascinating, actually, but it seems that while Doctor Tastha and I were caught unprepared in this instance, Garak was not.

“The poison you ingested at Nelara’s hands was designed to reach every corner of your body, and it did, with truly terrible results. Tastha and I couldn’t clear all of it from your system—we saved you from the immediate effects of the catalytic agent, but that left the remaining reactant to wreak havoc on your brain tissue. Slowly, but inexorably; if left alone, it _will_ kill you.”

It wasn’t quite what he had expected to hear, and Damar wasn’t sure just how to react. He chose instead to stare at his hands, lying folded together in his lap.

What Bashir was telling him almost sounded like _good_ news; they knew what was causing his seizures, and the damage wasn’t yet irreversible. But he could almost sense that there was a caveat—a terrible price he’d have to pay, perhaps, or something even worse.

“There’s more,” the doctor said after a moment.

“I thought there might be.”

Bashir framed the padd with his hands, moving them around the rectangular shape slowly, buying himself time before he had to speak. His discomfort was beginning to feed into Damar’s own anxiety. “This is only reversible,” he explained, “in the sense that we can repair the damage as it stands currently, and prevent it from causing further neural degradation.”

Damar looked up and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“As it stands currently, this will never go away. Even if we were to inject the bonding agent directly into your brain tissue, past the barrier, there is no actual way to remove the compound,” Bashir explained. “We could try, of course. Hope that perhaps it will lessen the effects of the compound, even if it can’t remove it completely. But frankly, without being certain how it may come to affect you weeks, months, or even years from now, I am not willing to take the risk that it will have an appreciable effect on the amount of damage being caused.”

“But couldn’t you breach the barrier—”

“It’s in the tissue, Damar. Well entrenched at the cellular level. Removing it by any other means than chemical would be impossible.” He softened his look somewhat and added, “At this point. You must know I will continue to search for a way to cure you completely. But for now, this is all I’m able to offer.” He tapped the padd a few times and passed it back to Damar.

It was the formula he had briefly seen before. The description of a regenerative neural therapy Bashir had developed. “This is what will keep the damage at bay?”

The doctor nodded. “For now.”

Still, it didn’t seem as though Bashir was finished giving him devastating news. Damar watched him expectantly, and when the rest didn’t appear to be forthcoming any time soon, he cleared his throat and gave the doctor a wry look.

Bashir sighed. “You’ll require regular monitoring. Due to the nature of this illness, there is no treatment schedule that could be set, no way to anticipate what changes might need to be made at a moment’s notice. The parameters of this therapy will require constant adjustment. You will have to be close to a source of the appropriate treatment at all times.”

That didn’t strike Damar as a particularly difficult demand to meet. “My physicians on Cardassia will do as you tell them,” Damar assured him. They might not be as brilliant as the renowned Doctor Julian Bashir, but they could follow instructions most of the time.

But Bashir was shaking his head. “This is not a procedure your doctors are capable of performing,” he explained. “The technology needed to do this, to maintain such an intensely variable treatment regimen… Damar, you will have to remain here, on the station, where you have immediate access to this facility.”

Damar jerked back as far as the bed would allow him to go. He hit the nearly flat pillow and made an indignant sound. “Here?” he scoffed. “On the station? How am I—” He shook his head. What was Bashir thinking? “Just how do you propose I lead an empire from this station, Doctor? Daily missives?”

“I would think you might consider stepping down, given the circumstances.”

Those words seemed to suck the air out of the room, leaving only a heavy silence behind. Damar stared at Bashir, and he received an equally challenging stare right back for his efforts. “Step down?” he asked, letting the words roll slowly off his tongue. “You’re not serious?”

“Damar, even allowing for the possibility that your doctors could successfully program the parameters of the therapy on their own, I am sorry to say I don’t believe them capable of making the minute adjustments needed to sustain the treatment indefinitely. Which is the reality you’re currently facing. Perhaps on Earth, one or two of my colleagues at Starfleet Medical… I could reach out to Doctor Cursio—”

“I’m not going to _Earth_ , Bashir, and I am not staying here. I am not stepping down, I am not sacrificing everything I’ve gained since you and the Federation’s handlers backed me into this corner.” He was furious now, and without thinking he threw the blanket off his legs and sat up.

“Damar, hold on just a moment—”

But Damar shrugged off the hand that reached out to stop him. “And why is it you won’t share this technology that is so crucial to keeping me alive, exactly? Is the lingering mistrust between the Federation and the Cardassian Union still strong enough to force one of your closest allies to abdicate a position of power that has only _ever_ benefited the Federation? What will you do when you don’t have such a malleable puppet in office?” He could hear how breathless he sounded, how panicked.

Bashir was standing now too, coming around the side of the biobed to stop Damar from getting up, which he had every intention of doing regardless. “It isn’t my choice,” the doctor objected, “you know that. And even _were_  I allowed to do so, where do you propose to obtain the materials that are crucial to performing this procedure successfully? Do your doctors have access to a steady supply of bio-mimetic gel? Do you?”

“How many liters?”

Bashir pinched the bridge of his own nose. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply, muttering, “It is only _ever_ a struggle with you, Damar.” When he looked up again it was clear he had passed the narrow threshold between frustration and actual anger. “I am _trying_ to save your life,” he snapped. “Would you at least offer the pretense of cooperation?”

“What point is there in saving my life if _this—_ ” he gestured to the room around them, “—is all I’ll be left with?”

Bashir came to a complete stop, drawing himself up abruptly. His brows were pitched high and he had a strange look on his face. “I’ll be sure to leave out that part when I speak with Colonel Kira,” he said.

Damar relented, hanging his head. “Please,” he sighed. A second later he caught up to the conversation again, his eyes snapping back to Bashir and narrowing dangerously. “ _Speak with Kira?_ About me?”

“You are _marrying_ her, Damar. I see no reason not to involve her in this discussion. If our roles were reversed I would expect the same. And I’m sure Kira will have a great deal to say about you refusing to heed my advice regarding the very precarious state of your health.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I am your doctor, unless or until you manage to escape, as it seems you’re intending to do. I can _and_ I _will_ do everything in my power to save your life.”

The effects of the anesthesia still lingered in Damar’s system, and he found himself beginning to sink slowly toward the floor. Only the edge of the biobed was keeping him mostly upright. He briefly considered storming off anyway; marching out onto the Promenade in his medical-issue pants and tunic, completely barefoot. The fight bled out of him as he stared down at his naked toes, pale grey against the darker grey carpet. “It isn’t as simple as _stepping down,_ ” he began only somewhat bitterly, trying for some semblance of rational discussion in the hopes of keeping Kira as far away from the topic as possible. “If I were to cede my position without warning, without at least putting some sort of interim administration in place to ensure a peaceful transition... We’ve had to scrape and claw at the dirt for every single day of progress, Doctor. Every day of relative peace since the end of the war. I won’t claim that I am responsible for that, but I would be a fool if I didn’t acknowledge that my presence has had an effect on my people. If nothing else, I’m… steady.”

“Your presence at the head of the Cardassian government reassures them.”

“It doesn’t take a great deal of skill to be a symbol,” Damar scoffed. “But it does take the will to see it through. I’ve made promises, and I have a duty to my people.”

“And what if your duty ends up costing you your life?” Bashir asked. His anger was still simmering below the surface, but he too had made an attempt to pull back from the edge. It was remarkable what a little forced proximity had done for their relationship over the years. “What then?” he continued to press. “Wouldn’t a peaceful transition, one begun _now_ , while you still have the means to influence its course, be far better than the abrupt appearance of a power vacuum that no one on Cardassia is currently prepared to fill?”

“You said yourself that the damage is minimal; so minor it was nearly undetectable, even to your _superior_ Federation technology. It has been _years_ , Doctor, and that’s all there is to show for it. I’m sure I have time to—”

“You may… not.”

Damar swiveled, nearly turning his body completely, to focus on Bashir. “What does that mean?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.

The doctor cleared his throat. He tapped one hand with the padd, and said, “What I know of your condition, now, is based on what little is observable. Perhaps I might have predicted this eventuality—made a lucky _guess_ , even—but I couldn’t possibly have known the particulars of the damage it would cause. That hasn’t changed, even if I know _why_ it’s happening. Essentially, your treatment won’t be very different from playing a very risky game of catch-up with a foreign body that is destroying your brain. Damar.” Bashir dropped all pretense of the doctor-patient relationship between them. It made him sound weary, and Damar found he didn’t like that at all. “I don’t know that I may not be enthusiastically putting out one fire, whilst another rages where I can’t see. At best it’s a—a _shot in the dark_ , really.”

It took Damar a moment to absorb everything the doctor was saying. To accept what it meant for him, and for the legacy he had been building over the past three years. When he finally felt as though he could, he opened his mouth to speak, stopped again to think some more, and then asked, “So, I could die. At any time.”

Bashir very shrewdly chose to avoid giving him a clear answer, instead offering only, “I cannot eliminate it as a possibility.” He held up a hand. “However unlikely I personally believe it to be.”

Damar turned back to face the other side of the room. He was still leaning against the biobed, and whatever tremors had made him doubt his balance before, they were gone; erased in the wash of dread that swept over him as he considered the narrow rope he was walking, even at that moment. “You’re a genius, Doctor.”

He could hear the smile in Bashir’s voice when he said a bashful, “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t finished.” Damar turned around to face him, the two men now separated by the bed that Damar had been confined to for what felt like far too much of his potentially shortened life. “Tell me: how do _you_ see this ending?”

“Ending? Do you mean…?”

“I mean this.” Damar set his hands to his own chest and patted himself. “This grand experiment by Starfleet, to install an ally at the head of an empire they cannot outright control. A puppet they could lead around by its strings. If I were to step down—”

“The goal was never to control you  _or_ Cardassia, Damar. It was only ever to ensure peace. To place the Cardassian Union in the hands of a man they knew would be capable of comprehending the bigger picture. Because he had _before_.”

“It only had the convenient side effect of giving the Federation a proxy within the fourth largest empire in the Alpha Quadrant.” Damar gave Bashir a wry look. “At least the Dominion made an attempt at subtlety before they simply rolled in through the front gate.”

“ _Subtlety_ ,” Bashir muttered with a disdainful snort.

Damar was ready to concede defeat, though—at least on one front. He lifted himself up onto the bed and settled comfortably against the raised back. With one hand he made a gesture for Bashir to pass the blanket to him. “So,” he began, folding his hands in his lap and doing his best impression of a good patient. “What would you do?”

But Bashir didn’t answer right away. Instead he walked away, moving slowly around the room, tidying up various objects that had been misplaced throughout the course of the day. Damar watched him, tracking the far-off look in the doctor’s eyes as he worked methodically but mechanically until he no longer had anything to do but stand and stare at nothing while he worked through the problem. Eventually, when it seemed he had reached a conclusion of some kind, he returned to the chair at Damar’s bedside. “This is awfully familiar,” he asked, “isn’t it?”

Damar made a show of looking up at the ceiling, and taking in all the Cardassian consoles around the room. “Some of the details are different.”

That made Bashir chuckle, and it seemed to relieve some of the tension between the two men. He sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “In that case, I’m afraid I can only give you the same answer I did the last time we found ourselves contemplating your place in Cardassian history: whatever is best for your people, Damar. That is what I would do. Give them whatever they need most at this point, including your honesty. They deserve that much.” He reached out and placed a hand on Damar’s shoulder, and for once Damar didn’t feel inclined to shrug it off. “But you _will_ have to made a decision. For them and for yourself.”

 

*

 

_“R’nel to Kira.”_

“Go ahead.”

 _“We have secured the_ Waimea _with a tractor beam, Colonel. It was located in orbit of the second moon, as indicated by the crew of the Boslic freighter. A thorough scan has indicated that there are no life signs aboard.”_

Kira wasn’t sure if the confirmation that their stolen runabout had been abandoned was a relief, or the sign of another problem. She forged ahead down the rocky path, followed closely by Nog, Lieutenant Wilson, and three members of Wilson’s team. “Understood,” she replied. “We’re closing in on the signature we picked up from orbit now. I’ll let you know when we’re ready for transport.”

 _“Acknowledged._ Defiant _out.”_

“Another twenty meters,” Nog said. “There’s a break up ahead, on the right.”

Above the away team churned the beginnings of a vicious storm, and it whipped the air around them into a frenetic mess that made sight navigation a nightmare. They would have been walking blind without any sensors, but luckily Nog had been able to calibrate his tricorder to account for the additional atmospheric interference.

“You really come in handy in a pinch, Nog,” she told him as they climbed the slope. From the corner of her eye she caught him grinning, but he kept his eyes locked on the tricorder readings, guiding them steadily toward their target.

“There.” He raised his hand and pointed to a small outcropping concealing a turn in the path. When they reached the top they found an alcove, and inside that a shivering figure, huddled against the wind.

“Gether,” Wilson said. She slipped past the others and inserted herself between Kira and Nog, almost pushing them both out of the alcove entirely. “Where are the others?” she demanded.

Gether raised his head, the effort making his shoulders tremble. He blinked up at them as he took in the sight of the away team standing over him. “C-Colonel?” he rasped when his eyes fell on Kira. “Colonel, it’s Riker… Riker and—”

“Don’t try to talk yet,” Kira said. “Get him some water,” she ordered, crouching down by Gether’s side to put a hand on his shoulder. “Can you stand?”

Gether pulled himself up until he could lean back against the rock. He coughed into his palm, and dust blew from his fingers. “I think,” he whispered. Kira gave him a hand and helped him first to his knees, and then up to his feet, where he swayed dangerously until he was able to get a hand on something solid to steady himself. She let go when he nodded that he was alright.

One of Wilson’s men had produced a canteen of water by that point, and he handed it over to Gether, who latched on and upended the container.

“Take it easy,” Nog urged.

Gether lowered the canteen again, but he kept a firm grip on it. He wiped the grimy back of his hand across his mouth and then onto his service uniform. It was torn in several places, and his communicator was missing, but he didn’t appear to have been seriously injured. A few small bruises dotted his temple and the side of his face. “Can you tell us what happened?” Kira asked.

It took him some time to gather himself, but then he slid up from where he had slouched against the wall and drew in a shaky breath to speak. “It was Riker,” he said hoarsely. His dark eyes darted from Kira to Wilson, and then took in everyone else standing at the mouth of the alcove. “He and Vezra must have been working together,” he continued. “They convinced me that there was something wrong—that we had to see you about Riker’s debriefing. He needed to tell you something important.” Gether shook his head. A cloud of dust followed him, the accumulation from days of being out in the elements shaking loose with each motion. His black hair was matted down by it where he must have been lying on the ground. “I went with them, but before we could even make it off the turbolift Vezra had some kind of weapon jammed into my back. Riker took my sidearm. That’s when we changed direction and headed for the runabout pad.”

“Alard,” Wilson all but snarled. She was right next to Kira’s ear, shoved in tight where there was barely any room. “What happened to him?”

Gether swallowed hard. His gaze dropped to his knees. “I couldn’t stop them. It was Riker, he…” Gether drew himself up again from where he had begun to sink down against the wall. “He attacked Alard. I’ve never seen anything so brutal, so... _senseless_. I think—I think he wanted Alard to suffer, sir.” Gether glanced up at them again, and there was a haunted look in his eyes this time. Something more than the sunken darkness brought on by captivity and privation. He licked his cracked lips and said, “On the runabout, I heard Riker tell Vezra that everyone would believe one of the Cardassians had done it. And if that didn’t work... sir, they’re planning something else.”

So much for Damar’s theory that Tom might only be a victim.

Beside her, Wilson looked pale. Despite their rocky history with one another, Kira couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “We’ll get you back up to the _Defiant_. Doctor Belmira will take a look at you,” she told Gether. “The transporter site is about half a kilometer down the ridge, are you okay to walk?”

Gether nodded. “A little weak, but I’ll make it,” he said.

Kira moved aside, letting one of the others loop an arm around Gether’s back to give him support. Together the party slowly made their way back down the steep incline. Overhead the storm had turned the sky a dark grey, nearly black. Lightning arced between the clouds in the distance. The sooner they left, the better. There would be time later to fully question Gether and see what he might have learned about Tom and Vezra’s plans, and why they had come to Draygo IV in the first place. Kira had a feeling there was something on that moon that they wanted, and they had abandoned the _Waimea_ , and Gether, after getting it. If that was the case, the important thing now was figuring out where they were headed next, and what they intended to do when they got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*I like symmetry*~
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that comments are now moderated. The short explanation is that I had some trouble with a couple of trolls, and I'm certain they've scurried off to do something more interesting, but for now I'm going to keep moderation on. Thanks for your understanding!


	8. Chapter 8

Wilson had recovered her composure by the time they had Gether settled in Sickbay. In fact, she barely waited around long enough to hear Doctor Belmira’s diagnosis of, _“Malnourished, and a little banged up, but otherwise fine,”_ before she was out the door and heading for the transporter room again.

“Where are you going?” Kira asked when she caught up to her in the corridor.

“To beam aboard the _Waimea_. Are you coming with me?”

The question almost made Kira stop in her tracks. She hadn’t expected any sort of cooperation from Wilson, and certainly not an invitation to work together. She almost asked why Wilson was inviting her along, but thought better of it. No sense in disrupting the tentative peace. “Don’t you think we should get Gether’s full statement before we go over there?” she suggested instead.

“R’nel said the scans showed no sign of any weapons or explosives on board. Life support is functioning, if not at one-hundred percent. Gether needs to rest, anyway. You coming or not?”

Kira wasn’t sure how to feel about at least half of what Wilson had said, but she knew one thing: she wanted aboard that runabout probably just as bad as Wilson did. Maybe more. “I’m coming.”

 

  
There wasn’t much to be found once they were actually on the _Waimea_ ; the sleeping quarters looked like they had hosted a small cyclone, and the replicator was broken, but otherwise everything inside the craft appeared in order. Better than she might have expected on a vessel stolen by someone who had just committed murder. Their first pass turned up almost nothing, which was discouraging, but on the second walk through Kira noticed a small flaw in the paneling behind a grip handle.

“Look at this,” she said, waving Wilson over while keeping an eye on the marks. “What does this look like to you?”

Wilson studied the spot for a moment, then crouched down and knelt on the floor to get closer. “Like maybe someone was tied up here.”

“Gether?”

“Probably. Runabouts don’t come equipped with restraints as a rule,” Wilson pointed out. “I’m betting they ripped up some of that rat’s nest of sheets and used them to keep him here. We should ask him about it.”

Kira hummed in agreement and then moved on to the next area to search for clues. She spent some time peering at the frame of a bunk, trying to determine if anything seemed out of place. She was just about to switch to the other side when she spotted a piece of something silver wedged into a gap between the foot of the bunk and the bulkhead. Not silver, as it turned out when she picked it up—beritium. It was a combadge, different from the standard model given to most Militia members. They had been issued a few years back, when Cardassia was sending whatever scrap they could gather to trade for food. Some of the Bajoran officers on the station had them; Ilpal, Kira, maybe a handful of others that she could recall. Vezra was among them.

She sat back on the floor and turned it over in her fingers, watching the light flash off the polished metal.

“What’s that?” Wilson asked. She had come over to peer at the object in Kira’s hand.

“Vezra’s communicator, I think. I found it wedged there,” Kira said, pointing to the bunk.

“You’re sure it isn’t Gether’s? His was missing.”

Kira shook her head. “Gether’s was different.” He had only been assigned to the station recently, coming from a lengthy patrol route on the border of Bajoran space. All of his gear looked practically secondhand, even before he’d been stranded on the remote moon. For all she knew it had been.

“Well, a simple ID trace can confirm that once we're back on the station. How do you suppose it got there?”

That was a good question. Kira rubbed her thumb and forefinger across the two sides of the metal, feeling the shape. A rough spot caught on her skin. “There’s something here.”

Wilson crouched even lower, bringing her face right up next to Kira’s. Together they peered at the back of the pin, trying to see through the reflection of the light to discern the tiny markings scratched into the surface. It was Kira who finally figured it out, with good reason: “It’s Bajoran” she said. “Numbers.”

“What numbers?” Wilson sat back on her heels while Kira took a closer look.

“Five,” she read, going slowly. The numbers appeared to have been scrawled hastily, and they weren’t very deep. It must have taken hours to write even that short sequence. “One. Seven.”

“Sounds like the start of a stardate,” Wilson said.

“You’re right. _Five-one-seven-two-one-point-three_.”

Wilson looked up at nothing. “That’s…” She paused. “Five years ago.”

“Four and a half.”

“Why then?” Wilson wondered aloud. “What’s the significance?”

The date put it some time around the end of the war, but beyond that, anything she could come up with would only be speculation. It frustrated her to have something, to be holding a potential lead _in her hand_ , and still have no idea what it might mean. What’s worse, she felt like she _should_ have known. It seemed familiar, but not enough to recall its significance offhand. “I’m not sure,” she sighed. “But we’ll log it as evidence and take it back with us.”

“I’ll do that,” Wilson said. She held out her hand, open palm facing up, and looked at Kira expectantly.

Just like that, any thin veneer of cooperation they had managed to forge with one another was gone. Kira wanted to argue. She _yearned_ to argue. But Captain Sisko had made his orders very clear, and as much as they didn’t make any sense to her—even if they did, and she just didn’t want to admit it—she knew she had no choice but to follow them.

But that didn’t mean she had to pretend she agreed.

Rolling her eyes, Kira slapped the badge into Wilson’s hand. “Of course,” she muttered. “I’ll be sure to bring you anything _else_ I find, Lieutenant.”

She received a curt nod from Wilson, who didn’t seem at all perturbed by Kira’s attitude, which only annoyed her more. She was starting to wonder if the other woman was doing it on purpose, and then she realized:  _of course she wa_ s. Wilson was undoubtedly enjoying every second of it.

They separated again, and Kira went back to scanning the cracks and crevices for signs of what may have transpired aboard the runabout. She turned over everything that wasn’t bolted down, and searched beneath what was. It had been a long time since she’d found herself on her back, head crammed into the guts of an instrument panel. There was no pleasant nostalgia to accompany the task. After another forty-five minutes of searching and coming up empty, she sat back on her heels and huffed a breath, declaring, “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else, there’s barely anything here to begin with.”

“I’m inclined to agree. For a ship that housed two fugitives and their prisoner for so many days, it’s remarkably bare. Almost like they intentionally kept things as orderly as possible.”

Kira made a gesture toward the crew quarters and said, “Except for the bedding back there.”

Wilson nodded. “I’d like to know what that’s about.”

Nothing came to mind, and Kira could only shake her head in answer. Out of all the mysteries surrounding the current investigation and the hunt for Tom and Vezra, why someone had chosen to make a nest of bedding on the floor of the runabout was probably the least of her concerns. If anything, it only spoke to the lack of sense in any of what those two had done.

Not for the first time, Kira found herself wondering how much of this could have been prevented if she had made good on her promise to rescue Tom sooner. Maybe he would have gone right back to what he had been doing when they lost him to the Cardassians; maybe he would have taken it as a sign that he could simply do whatever he wanted, regardless of the consequences, and regardless of the moral implications. Maybe it didn’t matter that she had barely thought of him at all since his arrest, and Tom would always be who he had been on the bridge of the _Defiant_ that day.

But she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she ever would.

 

  
Six days later, the _Defiant_ docked at Deep Space Nine, and Kira watched from the airlock exit as Wilson handed the combadge to Captain Sisko. He barely looked at it, only just glancing at the numbers before handing it back to her. Not long after that a team boarded the _Waimea_ , newly returned to its customary landing pad, and began a far more intensive search than even Kira and Wilson had conducted. What they found was a lot of nothing, according to the report. In the end, all they managed to gain from the mission was the combadge and Gether’s testimony.

As it turned out, the latter fell far short of expectations as well.

“I was tied up in the back for most of it,” Gether explained. “I didn’t hear much. All I know is that they were planning something.”

“Do you know what was significant about that moon?” the captain asked. He was standing at Gether’s bedside, in the Infirmary. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and he looked more annoyed than Kira had seen him in a long time. Not at Gether, she was sure—the situation itself was a tangled mess of too many questions and not enough answers. They didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

“I only heard something about a lab,” Gether replied. “Before we beamed down to the surface, Riker said he had learned its location from one of the other Maquis. He needed something that was there.”

Wilson looked up at the captain. “The second away team we sent down found what looked like an abandoned underground structure, not far from where we picked up Gether. But there was nothing inside to indicate what Riker might have been after.” She turned back to Gether and asked, “Was Vezra Maquis?”

“I don’t know. If she was, she never said anything about it. She and Riker only seemed to share the same hatred of Ca—” He turned sharply, his eyes falling on the room’s other bedridden occupant: Damar. “They didn’t seem very fond of Cardassians,” he finished sheepishly, turning back to the others.

Wilson seemed poised to ask another question, but before she could, the captain declared, “I think we’ve bothered Mister Gether enough for now. Let’s give him some time to rest.” He gave Gether a strange look, and it was gone again in the blink of an eye, but it seemed to make the deputy uncomfortable. “Perhaps you’ll remember something _else_ after a good night’s sleep,” Sisko added in a low rumble.

“Yes,” Gether muttered, staring down at the floor. He pulled his blanket up over his chest. “Thank you, Captain.”

They filtered out slowly after that, with Wilson lingering the besides Kira. Doctor Bashir and Doctor Belmira concluded what little work was left in the late hour, and the captain was gone almost as soon as he wished everyone a good night. Wilson hovered by Gether’s bedside for a few minutes, but eventually she also gave up on drawing out what had already been a long day. The lights dimmed and Kira was left alone with Gether, who seemed to have fallen asleep, and Damar, who was trying to pull his blanket down with his toes.

“Would you like some help?” she asked.

“I would like a longer blanket. Look at that.” He pointed to where Gether lay. “His covers his entire body.”

“We really need to get you out of here.”

Damar stilled his fidgeting. “Sit,” he said.

Kira looked around for a chair, but found none. She glanced back at Gether; he _seemed_ to be asleep, but—

“Just this once, don’t think about it,” Damar said, correctly guessing her concerns. “Please, sit.”

She frowned, but sat down anyway, allowing him to throw part of the blanket over her once she was settled. “Should I feel honored that you’re sharing your little blanket with me?”

“I’m only using you for your excessive body heat,” Damar said. He reached over and pulled her snug against him, and soon they were practically lying together in the biobed. It was probably the single oddest experience she had ever had in the Infirmary, barring some possessions and a few alien afflictions. But he held her close, and somehow, despite the strangeness of it all, Kira was happy to be there.

“What’s got you like this?” she asked him. “You can’t be that lonely with Julian hovering around you all day.” She was teasing him, poking at him with one finger while she carefully wiggled herself just a little bit closer; any more and there was a risk of accidentally pushing him onto the floor.

Quietly—so quietly she could just barely hear it over the hum of the equipment around them—Damar said, “Bashir has reached a conclusion. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

She stopped moving. “Okay,” she whispered. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and swallowing had become difficult. “What did he say?”

Damar wasn’t looking at her, and she wondered if it was because he couldn’t, or he didn’t _want_ to. If maybe he didn’t want to see whatever she might give away just by looking back at him. He cleared his throat, and asked, “How much time do you have?”

“I’m off duty. I have however much time you need.”

He nodded, and Kira waited as he shifted himself around, sinking down lower to bring his face closer to hers. When he was settled again he began talking, and he kept talking for some time. Whenever Kira thought he was finished, whenever she thought that was the end of it, he would continue, and it would get a little worse. By the time he finally did stop Kira was sure she had ceased breathing. She could feel every beat of her pulse, and it hammered at her temples.

“I’m not dying,” he assured her hastily. “And Bashir’s treatment should undo the existing damage if it works as he’s promised it will.”

“But you could. You _could have,_ ” she whispered angrily, and realizing that she was angry was a shock all on its own. It wasn’t because of Damar and his ability to constantly invite death, or Julian and his uncertainty about Damar’s long term chances. It wasn’t even because of Garak and his vengeance, or Nelara’s hand in the ensuing schemes. When it came down to it, she didn’t know why she was angry. She just was.

“Kira?” Damar reached up to rub her shoulder under the blanket. He was looking at her like _she_ was the one with a potential death sentence hanging over her head. “Should I not have told you?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m glad you did. I just—I don’t really know how to feel.” Panicked. Terrified. Infuriated. It just wasn’t fair, really, and she had nowhere to aim any of those feelings. Normally she would just blow up, and let it all fall around her. She couldn’t now, not with Damar there, not with Gether lying so close to them in the other bed. It wouldn’t do her any good anyway.

Damar grunted in agreement. “Well,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t turn away sympathy.” He nudged her gently with his thigh. “Or a little physical comfort.”

“Damar.”

“I’ve been in here for weeks, I refuse to feel ashamed for making an attempt.”

Kira pushed him away, but she was smiling. “Gether is sleeping three meters away. Even you can’t be that desperate.”

“I would not be so sure of that,” he chuckled.

She forced herself to laugh along with him, and for a moment everything seemed almost normal again. But only a moment; she couldn’t keep it up, not even for him. “How can you laugh?” she asked, and the fear in her voice gave the question a hysterical edge she wasn’t fond of. “How can you joke at a time like this?”

Instead of answering Damar wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He held her tight, leaving her face tucked tight against his throat. He smelled like the Infirmary, she thought, and whatever it was he always smelled like. Just himself, she supposed. It was a scent she had grown so accustomed to that noticing it now seemed strange.

“Because falling to pieces isn’t an option. Even if I would very much like to,” he said. The words vibrated through his skin and into hers.

As restricting as the embrace was, she found she didn’t want to move, not just yet. Leaving the bed meant leaving that bubble of peace that surrounded them in that brief, stolen moment. “Julian is sure this treatment is going to work?” she asked. Damar had already explained what Julian told him about the chances of success and the potential—however slim—for failure. She already knew the answer to her question, but a selfish part of her wanted to hear it again.

“He seems certain that it will,” Damar said. He sounded so confident that she wondered if he didn’t harbor some very deeply hidden admiration for Julian. He would never admit to it, of course, even if he did. “And I don’t have many other options at the present time,” he added after a beat.

She huffed a frustrated sigh against his skin, then breathed in deeply again. “How do you think this is going to affect things on Cardassia?” she asked. “Are you going to go public with it? Kren will be beside himself, having to arrange regular trips to and from the station.”

Damar shifted, and his hold on her loosened a bit. He looked away, up at the panels along the walls, past her shoulder. With one hand he idly rubbed at her back. “Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested. “Tell me about your mission.”

“You know I can’t talk about that with you,” she reminded him.

He made a show of pretending to be highly inconvenienced by her refusal, and then said, “In that case, tell me which of your friends has tried to talk you out of accepting my proposal.”

Kira shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not encouraging you to take revenge on anyone.”

“So you admit there were objections.”

She scoffed. “Damar, it’s you. Of _course_ there were.”

 

  
Wilson was already in Captain Sisko’s office when Kira arrived the next morning. She interrupted herself to greet Kira, and then turned back to the captain.

“That’s when I had the idea to have Lieutenant Commander Vidari run a scan on Deputy Vezra’s combadge,” she said.

“Without asking me first,” the captain noted with a smile that was anything but friendly.

Wilson at least had the sense to pretend she felt embarrassed by her misstep. “Sir, it was late, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Then I suppose it’s fortunate Vidari just _happened_ to be awake.”

For a moment Kira thought Wilson might actually be speechless. It was a nice change of pace. Then she stammered, “It—well, it turned out that my hunch was right, at least.” She held out her hand, offering the captain the combadge. “There wasn’t much on the surface; beritium is pretty resistant to most organic matter. But Vidari managed to pull a few samples from the numbers on the back.”

Captain Sisko took the badge and looked it over again, just as he had done at the airlock the day before. This time his gaze lingered on the poorly inscribed Bajoran numerals. His brow furrowed slightly. “What did he find?” he asked.

“Cellular residue, so badly damaged it was almost unrecognizable.” She nodded at the badge in the captain’s hand. “I had them do another sweep of the _Waimea_ once I was certain, and a detailed molecular scan of the area around the bunk confirmed it; Vezra didn’t go anywhere with Tom Riker. She was almost certainly vaporized in that cabin, sir.”

Something terrible turned over in Kira’s stomach, and she clenched her fists to fight it back. “ _Vaporized?_ ” she asked. “Are you absolutely sure?” That was a hell of a lot more than anything Gether had even _hinted_ at.

“Positive. Vidari confirmed it with Doctor Belmira this morning. It’s Deputy Vezra’s DNA.”

The captain gently set the combadge down on his desk. “Colonel,” he said quietly. Dangerously. “Deputy Gether lied to me, and I want to know _why_.”

“I’ll notify Doctor Bashir and have him moved to a—”

“No.” The captain held up a hand. He wagged a finger, like something had only just occurred to him. “No, don’t do anything just yet. I want to know what he knows, but I don’t want to show our hand until we have to. Until we know for sure what it is we’re dealing with.”

“Sir, what _is_ our hand, exactly?” Wilson asked. “Gether may have lied about what happened to her, but we can’t be sure that Vezra wasn’t as guilty as he says. For all we know, she and Riker had an argument about their mission, and he killed her over that. Without knowing what she was telling us—if this message was even meant for us—we’re still in the dark apart from Gether’s testimony.”

Captain Sisko reach out and flipped the combadge over onto its front, exposing the stardate written on the other side. “I think I might have some idea what she was trying to say,” he muttered to himself. When he looked up again there was a gleam in his eyes, and that decidedly unfriendly grin was back, tugging his mouth into something much closer to a snarl than a smile. “Get me Doctor Bashir,” he ordered. “I have a job for him.”

  
*

  
“And so I told him, ‘Miles, the RAF Hurricane Mark I was _not_ equipped with a compressed gas cylinder ejection seat. You cannot simply reprogram history because it inconveniences you.’” Bashir was moving around the room too rapidly for Damar to track, and so he stopped trying. The conversation didn’t include him, anyway. The doctor was talking to Deputy Gether, who lay in another bed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but trapped in the Infirmary.

“He disagreed, of course. Fiercely. He insisted that the first mass-produced ejection seats were available as early as the mid 1930's—years before the Battle of Britain. And he claimed that as such, it was absolutely plausible that one might find such a device on an combat airplane in active service at that time. Oh, we circled the issue for _hours_. By the time we finally reached a consensus, which was that Miles would be allowed to keep his ejection seat under the condition that he admit he was committing a grave historical inaccuracy, and undermining the spirit of our reenactment, thus tarnishing its integrity to a degree, it was nearly morning. Quark had closed the bar with the two of us still sitting inside.”

“Doctor…” Gether tried to interrupt.

Bashir simply rolled on into the next part of his story, heedless of the deputy’s objections. “You would think a man of his background—an engineer!—would have more respect for the finer points of mechanical history. After all, is this not the very _foundation_ of his own life’s work?”

While he spoke, Bashir pressed a small device to Gether’s temple. It made a high pitched noise, a light blinked twice, and then it was withdrawn.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I have nothing but the utmost respect for his passion on the subject, even if I disagree with his point of view. It’s just that he can be so terribly stubborn when he—hold still—when he sets his mind on something. Although, I suppose that is an invaluable quality in an engineer.”

Bashir had pushed a hypospray against Gether’s neck, and the small hiss that followed was, for a moment, the only sound in the room. It was silent while the doctor switched out his equipment, and then he returned with another device, this one meant to draw blood. “As it turned out, our petty squabble over the historical accuracy of the Hurricane’s ejector seat was ultimately rendered irrelevant by an unfortunate twist of fate: one of Quark’s waiters dropped the box containing the data rod for the Battle of Britain program, and we were unable to return to play out the remainder of our adventure.”

“Doctor, I can’t move my arms and legs,” Gether said, sounding mildly panicked. He was twitching in the biobed, but the look on his face suggested that he would have been flailing had he not been sedated.

Bashir stopped mid-stride and looked over at his patient as though seeing him for the first time that day. “Strange,” he said. “Now that I think about it, I wonder if perhaps the destruction of that data rod wasn’t an accident, after all.”

Gether shouted, “Doctor!”

Damar, who had been made aware of the situation earlier while on a rare and sadly exciting trip to the front of the Infirmary for a trial run of Bashir’s neural therapy, remained silent. He simply watched as the deputy grew more and more frantic, even as his ability to act on it rapidly disappeared.

After a few minutes Doctor Bashir, who had been bent over at a console analyzing the sample he had drawn from Gether, stood up straight and tapped his combadge. “Bashir to Sisko,” he said.

_“Go ahead, Doctor.”_

“I’ve concluded my analysis of _Deputy_ Gether’s blood sample,” he announced, placing an especially cynical emphasis on Gether’s title. “Your suspicions were correct, sir.”

 _“I thought that might be the case,”_ the captain said. _“I’ll be there shortly.”_

“What suspicions?” Gether demanded. He was lying limp in the bed, but his wide, dark eyes followed Bashir’s every movement. “What have you done to me?”

The doctor made his way back over to the biobed and busied himself at the adjacent console, tapping out a short sequence of commands. The electric crackle of a force field accompanied the brief shimmer of its activation, and then the deputy was secured.

“The Bajoran government will not stand for this outrageous treatment of a—”

“Actually, I very much doubt the Bajoran government will spare a great deal of concern for the treatment of a Romulan spy,” Bashir casually spoke over him. He ignored Gether’s sputtered objections and added, “Starfleet, on the other hand, will want to ensure you’re handled with the _utmost_ care. So that you will be fit to stand trial for the hijacking of a Federation vessel, conspiracy, and murder, of course.”

Damar turned enough in the bed to look over at Gether, who couldn’t have moved beneath the force field restraining him even if he hadn’t been rendered immobile by Bashir’s injection. “How do you like the bed?” he asked, unable to hold back his own satisfied grin. “Lumpy, isn’t it?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're closing in on the end. I'm predicting one more chapter and the epilogue, but I don't want to make any promises. This fic has turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and I wouldn't be surprised if it pulled another chapter on me.

“Why don’t we start with your name. Ah—” Captain Sisko interrupted himself and added, “Your _real_ name,” with a polite smile.

They had moved Gether to a holding cell once he was deemed healthy enough to leave the Infirmary. All they had been able to learn in the two days since was that he had been far more forthcoming as a patient than he apparently intended to be as a prisoner.

The captain rumbled something under his breath and tried again. “What was your mission?” he asked. “Why did you kill Ensign Alard and Deputy Vezra?”

Everyone had taken a crack at Gether; even Wilson spent close to six hours attempting to match his patience, which was impressive for her, and not unremarkable for a Romulan. Kira hadn’t been able to do the same, but she gave it a good try. Now Captain Sisko was working on his second round of questions, making no more progress than he had the first time, in the Infirmary.

“Why would you want to frame your allies for the murder of a Starfleet officer?” he asked.

Kira thought that was a very good question. What was really strange was that Romulans had all but _insisted_ on reaching out to the Cardassians in the first place. Claiming that, as part of the final assault on the Dominion forces, it was their responsibility to work with the Cardassians to ensure peace and stability in the Alpha Quadrant. That was the official statement, anyway; everyone else was pretty sure they just wanted to make sure it didn’t look like they had been dragged kicking and screaming into the war effort at the eleventh hour. Julian had suggested that they might be plotting something. At the time she had assumed it was only intended as a joke, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Where did Riker go after Draygo IV?”

The captain was still trying to wear away at Gether’s seemingly impenetrable wall of silence. He might have had the patience for an extended interrogation, but Kira had stopped paying attention almost as soon as it became clear that this time would be no different than the last three. Only the mention of Tom snapped her out of her own head and brought her back to the moment. She suddenly remembered her conversation with Damar, before the _Defiant_ set out to search for the _Waimea_. Was it possible he had been right all along?

“Did he even know what he was doing?” she asked, interrupting Captain Sisko’s next question.

Gether’s dark eyes flicked to hers for only a fraction of a second, and then he looked away again. But that small crack in the wall was all she needed. “Captain,” she said as she stood up and moved closer to the cell, “I don’t think Tom did any of this. Not of his own free will, anyway.”

“What are you saying, Colonel?”

Ilpal, who had been silently monitoring the proceedings from the far side of the room, asked, “Are you suggesting he was…” She struggled for a moment, and then said, “ _Brainwashed?_ ” with a pinched look that was more than a bit critical.

“The camp on Lazon II _was_ closed,” Kira insisted. “Even if none of us here knew that we could trust Damar and Kren at their word, how could an operational labor camp be overlooked for so long? Where were the guards when the Klingons arrived? When I asked Tom that same question, he accused me of siding with the Cardassians, but he never actually answered me.” She knew she was ranting, probably stumbling over her own point instead of laying it out clearly for Sisko and Ilpal, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was putting together the pieces of this ridiculous puzzle and _ending it_. Before things got any worse than they already were.

She continued, explaining, “No one but Tom was able to account for what had happened to the survivors after the camp was supposedly closed. Of all the people who survived, he was the _only_ one left who could even tell us what they had been through.” She shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but that seems a little too convenient.”

Ilpal looked unsettled, but at least she no longer seemed so skeptical. “If Thomas Riker really did undergo some kind of mental reconditioning prior to his rescue, then this might be much worse than we previously thought. We may be dealing with the work of the Tal Shiar.”

“Who else could set up something this elaborate,” Kira confirmed.

The captain grunted in agreement and turned back to Gether. “Well?”

As though they had inadvertently tripped some sort of trigger phrase, Gether smiled and bowed his head. “A clever deduction. Much better than I might have expected from a Bajoran,” he sneered, looking up at Kira from beneath his lashes.

“What did you do to Tom?” she demanded. “Is he even still alive, or did you program him to conveniently dispose of himself once he’d served his purpose?”

“Oh, we’re far from finished with Riker,” Gether said, tutting at her like a small child. He leaned back and smiled.

“What else can you tell us?” the captain asked.

Gether rolled his head along the wall of the holding cell until he was looking at Captain Sisko again. “I could tell you a great deal, Captain. What I _will_ tell you, however, is nothing.”

“Doctor Bashir has already deactivated your implant; you won’t be getting out of that cell any other way than in our custody. If you cooperate with us now, it will be taken into account during your trial, you have my word.” The captain still seemed determined to reason with Gether, but the hard set of the Romulan’s eyes made it clear to Kira that he had no intention of doing anything they asked. He’d fulfilled his mission, or at least enough of it that he was no longer concerned with being caught.

“I’m sure you don’t want to spend any longer in prison than you have to,” Ilpal said.

That only made Gether chuckle. “Are you suggesting that I have anything to fear from one of those infamously soft Federation facilities?” he asked. When the constable didn’t answer, he sat up on the bench and leaned forward. “When the alternative is so much less appealing?”

“Then I guess that means you already know what to expect of your homecoming,” the captain said, abruptly drawing Gether’s attention away from Ilpal.

Gether’s look turned sour. “What are you saying?”

“Exactly what it sounds like I’m saying, Mister _Gether_. We’re going to take you home. I don’t pretend to know what the procedure is for a Tal Shiar operative who has so carelessly blown his cover, but I imagine it isn’t good.” The captain had laced his fingers together in front of him, and he shrugged lightly, making a face. “Of course, after we hand you over to Romulan authorities, we’ll be sure to include a full report of everything you’ve told us here. After all, you were kind enough to confirm most of what Colonel Kira deduced from the evidence. So confident that you would be sitting out the results of your actions in one of our infamously _soft_ Federation facilities.”

“You wouldn’t send me back,” Gether hedged nervously. He licked his lips and his eyes darted about the room, twitching from person to person. In a hoarse whisper he rasped, “I’m too valuable to you. The Federation… You—you can’t.”

The captain raised one brow and gave Gether a look that Kira knew all too well. _Try me_ , it said.

  
*

  
“How does it feel to be a free man?”

Damar looked around the Infirmary, which he hadn’t yet left, and frowned at the doctor.

“Yes, well, nearly,” Bashir corrected himself. “Have you made a decision regarding your…” he waved his hand around, “future?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Doctor. _My future_ is a very broad subject.” Damar was leaning against the side of the biobed that had been his home for two weeks. He had been permitted to get up and move about unsupervised after the success of the initial treatment, but he had only just been cleared to leave the Infirmary that morning.

“I’m glad to see you’re thinking so positively,” Bashir noted with a cheeky smile. “I meant your leadership of Cardassia, of course.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to have made a decision already.” Damar crossed his arms. “If nothing else, I’ll need to have a very long and very difficult conversation with Kren, first. You know,” he added, turning to face the doctor, his arms still wrapped around his chest. For some reason he didn’t care to examine very closely, he felt needlessly defensive. “I don’t know if you really understand what it is you’re suggesting. This isn’t a task I can simply pass off to anyone willing to take it.”

“You’ve trusted Kren to keep Cardassia in one piece in your absence,” Bashir pointed out. “Do you have reservations about making the current arrangement permanent?”

Damar took a moment to think about how he wanted to answer that. It wasn’t that he couldn’t; yes, of course he had reservations, but none of them were because of _Kren_. In truth, he had absolute faith in the man who had somehow come to be his closest confidant—both as a fellow soldier and as a friend. But would Kren accept the role if Damar asked him? And if he didn’t, then who else? Damar simply didn’t trust anyone in his administration like he did Kren. He couldn’t think of anyone else he believed in enough to just _hand over_ control of the entire Cardassian Union. Even if Kren agreed, accomplishing a peaceful transition of power without a great deal of difficulty seemed like a fantasy from where he was standing.

And where he was currently standing happened to be the middle of a Federation medical facility on a Bajoran station, hoping to stave off death a little longer. Not a promising start to what could become the most disastrous move he had ever made, short of drinking himself into oblivion while the Dominion had its way with his people.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “None that come to mind,” he lied, deciding it was the easier way out of the conversation.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” If Bashir knew Damar was avoiding the truth, he had the good grace to keep it to himself.

It was also possible he was merely following his own advice, and attempting to keep Damar’s stress levels as low as possible. A task that seemed impossible given current events. His own circumstances were hardly an exception, either. There was no scenario in which living aboard Deep Space Nine was a positive turn of events. No good could come from abandoning his responsibilities to Cardassia a second time. Even taking into account that it meant Kira would be closer, he could find no way to make himself feel comfortable with any part of it. If anything, knowing she would be nearby and knowing it made _absolutely_ no difference actually made the situation worse. Damar laughed quietly at himself; perhaps he and Kira could arrange some sort of site-to-site transporter and make a true mockery of their farcical marriage.

“You know,” Bashir said, suddenly animated in the way he always was whenever he’d thought of something particularly clever, “you might consider discussing the matter with Captain Sisko.”

Rather than dismiss the suggestion out of hand, as he wanted to, Damar waited to see what strange logic Bashir could apply to convince him that a conversation with Benjamin Sisko would solve all of his problems. Part of him was genuinely curious. Another part simply wanted to give the good doctor an opportunity to embarrass himself because it was amusing to mock his naivete once he realized he was wasting his time. It was a game they played.

Well, it was a game _Damar_ played.

When Damar didn’t answer, Bashir rushed to explain, “He has dealt with somewhat similar circumstances in the past. I think he could offer you a great deal of insight on the matter.”

“Insight into abandoning an empire I share responsibility for nearly destroying in the first place? I wasn’t aware Captain Sisko had a great deal of experience with that particular subject.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Bashir groused. “I simply meant that—” He stopped and sighed. “Fine. What did Kira have to say?” he asked, peering questioningly at Damar.

“She...” Damar froze. He hadn’t expected him to ask that, which was foolish; the doctor loved nothing more than to pry into his life. He paused to clear his throat and look around the room, subtly buying himself time to think of an answer. Shifting his weight from foot to foot a few too many times seemed to be the damning tell.

Bashir gawked at him. “You haven’t told her. Damar, you haven’t _told her?_ ”

“I’ve told her what she needs to know,” Damar said, pointing a finger at the doctor. “And you will tell her nothing else.”

“Oh, yes, because keeping secrets from her worked out so well for you the last time you did it!” He pointed a finger right back, and Damar couldn’t help but think of how ridiculous they must have appeared to anyone who happened to be watching. “Last time, might I remind you, when you were not in a relationship with one another, let alone _married_ ,” Bashir added.

“We are not married _yet_.”

Bashir scoffed. “If you’re going to hide behind technicalities to avoid facing the fact that you’ve been lying to the woman you love, then perhaps you would be better off leaving Cardassia in Kren’s hands.”

The words knocked the air out of him, and Damar was left gaping at Bashir. For a fleeting second he felt genuinely embarrassed by his own behavior, and a small voice in the back of his mind took advantage of his stunned silence to smugly remind him that the doctor was right. He was hiding, afraid to tell Kira what was really going on. Afraid that she would see right through him to what he was truly afraid of. He’d only given her the most optimistic version of events, after all. The one in which he could be patched up by Bashir’s brilliance and sent on his way, ready once more to do his part in maintaining their tolerable state of affairs. Not the one in which he would be violently forced to detour into a life of uncertainty, trapped in the orbit of Bashir’s expertise, and miserable in the company of people whom he was certain despised him and a wife he couldn’t even touch.

“I apologize,” Bashir said quietly. “That was uncalled for.”

“What was?” Kira asked, striding into the Infirmary with her arms swinging at her sides. “Are you two fighting again?” She frowned at Damar. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

“A minor disagreement,” Julian lied, turning around to face the nearest console.

Kira looked between the two of them and then shrugged. “Is he cleared to leave?” she asked, aiming a thumb at Damar.

“As of an hour ago, yes,” Bashir said. “Why? Are you planning to take him somewhere?”

Kira nodded at his back. “The _Defiant_ is leaving for Cardassia Prime in twenty minutes. The captain wants him on board.”

Bashir held up a hand and moved to stand between Kira and Damar, as though he could physically stop her from taking him out of the Infirmary if she tried. “Hold on, that’s an entirely different matter altogether. I haven’t cleared him for travel yet. I need him here, where I can monitor his status. This is a crucial period in the—”

“I understand your concerns, Julian, but we don’t have time. You can keep an eye on him there.” She turned to leave, then stopped and said, “Bring whatever equipment you’ll need for... Anything that you think might help.”

Bashir hesitated, then nodded sharply. “Understood.” He seemed to have realized something about this impromptu mission that Damar hadn’t yet been able to grasp.

It wasn’t until Kira had left that he found the right words to ask what the hell had just happened. “What was that, exactly?” he asked the doctor.

But Bashir was already moving about the Infirmary, gathering his equipment and packing it all into a kit. “I think it’s best if you wait for me in the front room,” was his only answer.

“What did she mean by _‘anything that might help?’_ ” Damar waited, but Bashir said nothing. “Doctor.” He let another minute pass in silence before he growled, “ _Julian_.”

“Damar, I—” There was an audible click as the doctor snapped his mouth shut again. “I imagine the captain and Colonel Kira will be able to provide you with much better answers than I could at the moment.” He finally turned around and looked at Damar. “Please, wait in the front.”

The request—more of an order, really—was delivered with such quiet intensity that Damar, still reeling from the whiplash of Kira’s announcement and the argument before, found himself complying without question. As he shuffled into the front room to wait, he considered how out of his control his own life had become. Then he dismissed that thought and reminded himself that it had never really been in his control in the first place. Not for a very long time, anyway.

As for whatever it was that urgently compelled his presence on Cardassia, he had a sinking feeling that it was not going to be what finally upset that long-standing status quo.

 

  
The _Defiant_ was uncomfortably cold, as usual, and Damar spent most of the voyage to Cardassia in his cabin as a result. He resented being cooped up again after having spent so long confined to the Infirmary, but what he resented much more was being kept in the dark about their mission. Judging from the intense hum of the ship around him, they were traveling at or near the _Defiant’s_ maximum warp speed. So at the very least the trip would be blessedly short, but he still didn’t know why they were going, or for what reason his presence had been so urgently required.

Sadly, the time alone in his cabin had left him with ample opportunity to think. Always a dangerous pastime. Since their little spat in the Infirmary, Damar hadn’t been able to shake what the doctor had said to him.

_“Keeping secrets from her worked out so well for you the last time … Perhaps you would be better off leaving Cardassia in Kren’s hands.”_

He passed a hand over his hair and blew out a breath. It took what remained of his denial with it; Bashir was right. Lying to Kira, even a lie of omission, would not improve any part of his situation, and might actually make it worse. Kira had forgiven many things, including some that Damar himself didn’t believe deserved to be forgiven, but hiding the extent of what he faced—that they both faced—might be too much to overlook. If he didn’t tell her, if he let it go too long like he had back on Bajor...

“Computer, where is Colonel Kira?”

_“Colonel Kira is on the bridge,”_ the monotonous voice responded.

The bridge of the _Defiant_ wasn’t exactly where he had imagined they would have such an important conversation, but if they really were hurtling toward Cardassia Prime at top speed, he likely didn’t have much of a choice. He was out of time to wrestle with his conscience.

Damar hoisted himself up from the bunk and left his cabin. It wasn’t until he had arrived at the corridor outside of the bridge that he considered whether or not they would even allow him to enter. If he didn’t warrant so much as a briefing on the purpose of their mission, would he be welcomed there? Faltering only momentarily, he nevertheless moved to the door—gritting his teeth at the immense relief he felt when it opened for him. Starfleet had truly brought him to heel if he was so willing to accept the most basic decencies as generosity, he decided grimly.

Kira was seated at the tactical station near the front of the bridge. Captain Sisko was in the center chair, and he glanced over his shoulder at Damar as he entered. “Colonel, I believe you have a visitor,” he said.

“We’ll be entering the system in fifty seconds,” Nog announced. “No sign of the Boslic freighter.”

“It is reasonable to conclude that they have already beamed their cargo to the surface and departed,” Commander R’nel said. She was at the other tactical station, turned around in her seat to face the captain.

Sisko nodded in agreement. “Drop to impulse. Begin scanning the inhabited planets first; we can’t assume that our Romulan friend was telling the truth about their destination.”

Damar was curious—more than curious, in fact; he was burning to know just what the hell was going on, and why he knew nothing about it. Had Kren been informed of their visit? Damar hadn’t spoken to him in almost two weeks; anything could have happened in that time. He could have been declared dead. Again. He stepped forward and started to ask, “Captain, what is it you’re—”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Kira had insinuated herself between Damar and the rest of the bridge. She indicated the small seating area at the back of the bridge with a gesture. “What did you want?” she asked him quietly. “I really don’t have time for another debate about the preset temperature in the crew cabins.”

“Why do you assume—” Damar shook his head. He wasn’t there to bicker. “Never mind,” he said quickly. “I need to tell you something.”

“Can’t it wait?” she asked. There was no anger, no hint of condescension in the question. She only seemed… harried. Nervous, perhaps? He found that curious, but didn’t remark on it. “This is a bad time, Damar.”

“It’ll only take a moment.” He reached out and took her hands in his, cupping them between his palms. No one was watching; no one would see the small, intimate gesture with their faces all but pressed against the panels, searching for—

Searching for something. In the Cardassian system?

Kira sighed, relenting. Her hands didn’t relax in his. “Go ahead.”

“Well,” he began, stopping almost immediately. He looked around the bridge and cleared his throat. Furtive hand holding was one thing; baring his soul within earshot of the others suddenly struck him as intensely foolish. When his nervous sounds and fidgeting caught the attention of a nearby officer, Damar pulled his hands away from Kira’s and muttered an aborted apology.

“Damar.”

From the other side of the bridge, Nog called, “Nothing on the fourth and fifth planets, I’m scanning the third now.”

“It’s difficult,” Damar tried again. “First, I need you to understand why I didn’t tell you.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll understand.” Kira peered over her shoulder, her lips pulled into a taut, anxious line. “But maybe this isn’t the best time,” she added.

“The third planet is clear, Captain.”

Damar shook his head. “It’s important that I tell you. I should have told you before. There shouldn’t be anything left unsaid before I take this next step.”

Kira’s attention suddenly snapped to him. “Wait, what do you mean by that? What step are you taking?”

“I’ve found it,” Nog called out. “Cobalt diselenide detected on Cardassia Prime, sir. In this concentration, it’s definitely one of the warheads.”

Damar was up on his feet before the lieutenant could finish speaking. “ _What?_ ” he breathed furiously, storming over to Sisko’s side, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen and the image of his wounded homeworld rotating tranquilly below. He turned a glare on the captain, who appeared utterly unfazed by it. “What is he talking about?”

“Legate Damar, please take a seat,” Sisko said calmly. He seemed more interested in what was on the viewscreen than the irate Cardassian looming over him and blocking his line of sight.

“I will not,” Damar snapped in return. “You will tell me why your sensors are detecting _biogenic weapons_ on Cardassia, and why I wasn’t informed of the purpose of this mission sooner.”

“You aren’t being informed of it now,” Sisko rumbled in reply, finally looking up at Damar past a solid wall of implacable patience. Some shred of self-preservation still remaining in Damar begged him to back down, to let Sisko handle these matters that he clearly understood so much better. He thought of the Dominion fleet, lost before their very eyes; of the time the captain spent in the company of beings that could snuff out so many lives in an instant. But then Sisko said, “The truth is, you’re in no shape to handle this, and your presence here is only a formality. So for the sake of your health, I suggest you—”

“A _formality?_ ” Damar followed the interruption with a disdainful sound that turned more than a few heads their way. A formality. Humans couched their true intentions in so many careful niceties, hidden behind diplomatic language designed to mislead simpler species. Any other man might have accepted Sisko’s answer at face value. Any other man might have been cowed into silence by the dismissive tone and the warning glare. But Damar was a Cardassian; language was a tool that his people were taught to wield from infancy.

He stood straight and ignored the nearly imperceptible lift at the corners of Sisko’s mouth. Damn him and his games; Emissary or not, he was only mortal. He could make mistakes just like anyone else. “I’m here,” Damar bit out slowly, “because if you cannot retrieve those weapons before they’re detonated, I may be all that’s left of the Cardassian government.”

Sisko turned back to what he could see of the viewscreen. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not going to let that happen, then,” he said. “Lieutenant, take us into orbit. I want to know the _exact_ location of the warheads.”

Damar recognized that he had been dismissed, and he stepped back until he was behind the command chair, once more out of the way. His jaw and his fists clenched tightly. _Always_ out of the way. After a moment he left the bridge altogether; he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself just to prove a point. Waiting obediently at Sisko’s heel for errant scraps of information was perhaps the _least_ appealing of his options, anyway. His mind raced; there had to be a way to help his people. Something he could _do_.

Damar felt a hand on his arm, and with a start he turned to find Kira. She had followed him into the corridor. “ _Why?_ ” he demanded, knowing and ignoring the way the harsh sound reverberated through the space around them.

“I couldn’t.” She shook her head, making the chain of her earring sway and tangle with her hair. He had once found it mesmerizing; now he only wanted it to stop. “Julian’s orders,” she continued. “And Kren’s, too, if you can believe it. They were pretty serious about keeping you away from anything that might cause you stress. No one wanted you involved in this.”

“If I had known you were all so anxious to be rid of me, I could have made it much easier for you,” he muttered bitterly.

“They’re not trying to get rid of you, Damar.”

Damar scoffed and asked, “ _They?_ You don’t really consider yourself blameless in this, do you?”

From the corner of his eye he could see the shock in Kira’s eyes, the naked hurt. If he hadn’t been so furious his guilt might have won over his indignation. But he was furious, and at that moment he didn’t feel any particular need not to let it show. Not even for her sake.

“What blame? Damar, we were trying to _help_ you. And if you ever thought that I would try to shut you out—”

“Isn’t that what you have been doing?” He rounded on her, and he knew that he was shouting, but in his anger he didn’t much care that someone might overhear. The words felt jagged and raw, clipped off at the ends as each one passed his lips. “You, and Bashir, and Sisko; you tug me around by this invisible lead,” he sneered, jerking at the collar of his jacket with two fingers. “Using my position to further your plans whenever it suits you, and then leaving me to languish when you find my presence too _inconvenient_ to bother. For _weeks_ I have been trapped in your Infirmary, blissfully resigned to giving you and Sisko all the time and secrecy you claimed you needed in order to set these events to right.”

He moved in close—so close that he could hear the way Kira’s fury pounded at her. Every breath hitched on the beat of her pulse as she stared defiantly back at him. Distantly he wondered if he could still push her the way he used to, when all it took was a few snide remarks to start a brawl between them. Something ugly inside of him almost wanted that.

“I trusted you,” he said, stepping back. “Both you and Sisko. And all I have to show for that trust is a host of incredibly deadly weapons installed at the heart of _my_ empire. Even now, I don’t know why. Sisko refuses to answer my questions. I doubt Bashir will tell me much, either. You keep insisting that this is all for my health, but just what do you expect it will do to my _health_ , Kira, when my home has been poisoned and my people murdered by the billions? What then?”

She didn’t answer, and he hadn’t expected she would. Some of the anger seemed to have ebbed from her, leaving in its place an emptiness that Damar fought hard to ignore. He was _right_ , damn it. He was right to be angry, right to feel betrayed by their deception and disregard. Not even his own guilt could take that away from him.

The silence in the corridor around them was almost as bad as it had been on the bridge. “I was going to resign,” he announced suddenly, if only to have some other sound besides his own hammering pulse. “Bashir insisted that I would need to remain close by, so that I might be treated quickly in the event that my condition worsened. But,” he drawled, slipping back behind the comfortable mask of personal indifference, “I suppose if you fail here, it won't matter what I do.”

Kira kept whatever thoughts she had on the matter to herself. Damar found he didn’t care to wait around and see if she would change her mind. He turned and walked away, leaving all the silent anxiety and tension they had built between them to churn in his wake. As he stepped into the turbolift the doors closed behind him on a plaintive but firm, “ _Damar_.”

“Sickbay!” he barked at the computer.

  
*

  
“Colonel.”

Kira hadn’t realized she’d been standing just inside the door to the bridge until the captain spoke. “Sir?”

The captain was behind the conn, his left hand on the back of Nog’s chair. “The lieutenant has just informed me that we’re only able to confirm the location of _one_ warhead.”

“Gether told us that there would be four,” Kira said. It was easy enough to pretend nothing was wrong, to push her own problems to the side and snap back into action. She had been doing it most of her life. “Either he was lying, or they’ve found a way to shield the others from our sensors. But why would they leave the one detectable?”

“I don’t know, but there’s more: a single human life sign, not far from the weapon’s location.”

Tom. Of course, he was disposable now, wasn’t he? She had guessed as much would happen during Gether’s interrogation. Whether Tom was captured or killed, it tied up all the loose ends for the Tal Shiar. “Is he somewhere we could establish communication? We might still be able to talk him down. If he knows where the other warheads were hidden, we could end this without anyone getting hurt.”

It was Nog who answered. He was shaking his head. “He’s about thirty meters underground, in an uninhabited area sixty kilometers from the capital. There’s nothing around him but rocks and sand.”

“So, no communication.”

Sisko hummed an affirmative. “And no time. We don’t know if the Romulans ever planned to detonate those weapons, but we can’t risk waiting around to find out. If Riker panics, and for some reason he _does_ have control of the warheads, we might wind up with a disaster on our hands. Between what’s left of the Cardassian military and the _Defiant_ , we wouldn’t stand a chance of evacuating even ten percent of the population before atmospheric saturation reached critical levels.”

“Let me go down there.” She hadn’t given the matter any thought before she said it, but once it was out, it made perfect sense; she was the only one who had established any kind of rapport with Tom. The only one left who had known him as anything more than just the battered, broken prisoner. Even if it wasn’t much, it was something. “Let me talk to him.”

“Colonel,” the captain began, and Kira could already tell he was making an effort to let her down gently. “I know you and Riker had a connection, but you’ve tried already, remember? You couldn’t get through to him then, what makes you think you can do it now?”

“Now I know he’s not himself. You were right the last time, he _isn’t_ the same man he was eight years ago. He’s whatever the Romulans made of what was left over after the Cardassians and the Dominion got through with him. But I think I can reach him. Let me try.”

The captain watched her for a moment, and Kira knew she was being measured in some way she didn’t dare try to define. Ever since he had come back from the Celestial Temple, he had been different. The same, but not the same, somehow. She could only imagine what he had seen, what he had _learned_ , and she wasn’t arrogant enough to ask him. But at times she thought maybe she caught glimpses of it. The thought of it was humbling, and if pressed she might admit it even intimidated her a little, but it wouldn’t stop her from putting her foot down and insisting on what she knew was right. Whatever the captain had been through, he didn't seem to expect anything different from her.

“Go,” he ordered. Turning to Nog, he added, “Lieutenant, accompany the colonel to transporter two. I’m sure you can get her down to Mister Riker’s location safely.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Do you remember what I said when you asked to conduct Riker’s debriefing?” the captain asked.

Of course she did. She wasn't going to forget it any time soon.

_“Don’t thank me yet, Colonel.”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really difficult few weeks. Thanks for your patience.

It was dark at the beam-in location, and Kira immediately reached for her light. It turned on with a comforting _click_ , the small sound echoing in the open space around her. These weren’t tunnels that had been carved neatly by industrial equipment, but Cardassia’s own natural geological activity. From the glassy appearance of the black rock, she guessed the offshoot she was in must have been part of an ancient magma chamber.

Her tricorder was pointing her west, toward a large central area that Nog had indicated as the most likely source of the cobalt diselenide they were picking up on the _Defiant’s_ sensors. It was difficult to get an exact reading, and even down there, maybe only a few dozen meters from the source of the signature, she couldn’t say for sure that Nog had been right. If he wasn’t, they were wasting precious time. Gether—or the man who had called himself Gether for all the months they’d known him—had said there would be four warheads. But he was a Romulan spy; a trained liar, cut from the same cloth as Garak. The Romulans might have placed a false signature in the cavern and left Tom there to sell the illusion that this was the real thing. Only seeing one of the warhead for herself, confirming its existence and the threat it posed, would satisfy her lingering doubt.

She rounded a bend in the tunnel and the path ahead of her immediately widened into a larger chamber. It had a high ceiling—too high to see well in the low light cast by the few lamps spread around the room. Movement to the left caught her eye, and Kira immediately lifted and aimed her phaser. “Tom?” she asked quietly.

There came an answering shuffle of feet, and then another light was pointed her way. Kira flinched away from the glare and tried to see who was holding it, but all she could make out past the bright beam of white light was a silhouette.

From behind the towering shape she heard Tom rasp, “Kira?” He lowered his light and stepped closer.

“That’s close enough,” Kira warned. She gestured with her phaser to remind him it was there. “Where’s the warhead, Tom?”

“The… warhead?” Tom squinted his confusion from behind the mane of filthy hair, frowning as he let his eyes track down to the floor. It was as if he couldn’t grasp what it was she had asked him. He seemed locked in that loop until Kira shifted, drawing his attention back to her.

Something was very wrong. He wasn’t himself—maybe even less so than before. He blinked and rattled his head, his gaze roaming around the room, filled with a lack of comprehension that made Kira question her claim that she could really get through to him. Was it because he had fulfilled the purpose the Romulans had set for him? He had nothing left, no task to complete. All he had to do was wait to die. “Tom, the Romulans sent you here. They—we’re pretty sure that they conditioned you. They brainwashed you, Tom. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Romulans?” Tom shook his head and laughed. _There_ was some of the conviction that the old Tom had to spare. “No, it was only the Cardassians,” he said.

“And the Dominion?”

Like a bewildered hound, Tom cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

Kira’s heart sank a little. Who the _hell_ had she been speaking to in that debriefing? How much of Tom was even in there anymore? “Tom, listen to me. There is a weapon down here with you.” She glanced around, trying to discern some shape in the darkness, anything to indicate where the warhead might be. “It’s going to kill a lot of... innocent people, Tom.” The word caught in her throat, and Kira swallowed back her own objections; it really _wasn’t_ the time to fall into a debate with herself.

He raised his chin and looked down at her. “The weapon. It’s here,” he said.

Was that confirmation, or had he only been repeating her, trying to understand what she was asking? Kira latched onto the sliver of what might have been progress, and chose to believe it was real. “Yes, that’s right,” she encouraged him. “You came with four, but our sensors showed that the concentration of cobalt diselenide in this cavern was only high enough to account for one. Where is it?”

Tom swiveled at the waist, looking back over his shoulder at a dark corner of the chamber. With her weapon still trained on his position, Kira made her way in that direction, her eyes locked on Tom as she felt blindly for any sign of the warhead. When her fingers made contact with cool metal, she knew she’d found it.

“You don’t have to point that at me, Kira. I won’t try to stop you,” Tom said, suddenly so lucid, so like himself, that Kira faltered and gaped at him.

“Tom?” He was in there. He was _still in there_. If she could only get through to that part of him... “Tom, how do I disarm it?” she asked carefully.

“You can’t.” He shook his head, his matted hair barely moving. “You can’t disarm any of them.”

Panic started to bubble up from Kira’s center, and she firmly pushed it back down. Any weapon could be disarmed. Anything could be done if you had the right tools, or if you didn’t mind aiming a few well-placed kicks to the vital parts of a high-yield explosive. She wasn’t fond of that last option, but if it came down to it, she’d try. “I’m going to try anyway,” she told him, crouching low beside the instrument panel. She set the phaser on top of the frame above her. “Can you tell me anything? Anything you might have overheard the Romulans saying when they were planning all of this?”

The veil fell over him again, and Tom’s brow wrinkled. “Romulans? No, there were only Cardassians… What are you doing over there?”

Kira let her head fall between her shoulders. “I’m trying to save a lot of people, Tom. I know you can’t help me, and that’s not your fault, but maybe you could go stand by one of the lamps, where I can see you. So I know you won’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t try to stop you,” Tom muttered. More to himself than to her, it seemed. “I’m not… I’m not allowed to, I think. You’re here… Why are you here?”

The worry that had been manageable before returned, insistent and unwilling to be brushed aside so easily again. Tom wasn’t _allowed_ to stop her? That sounded worryingly specific. Were his orders for anyone who tried to disarm the warhead, or just her? Kira was reminded of Garak’s insistence that Nelara and the others not harm her. Only this time she had a feeling that if she was purposely being kept alive, it wasn’t over any sort of lingering fondness.

She pried the casing off the side of the warhead and aimed her light at the instrument panel. It was a hastily crafted mess of mismatched guts, part Cardassian in design, and definitely bearing some familiar Bajoran technology in the mix. She assumed that was part of the illusion the Romulans were trying to sell: the Bajoran terrorists and their homemade bombs, willing to kill anyone they could with nothing but scraps and rocks and a few rickety old ships.

Ships.

Kira had been holding the light in one hand, and it slipped from her grip as her arms went slack and she sank to her knees beside the warhead.

It was personal. It _was_ her. Everything fell together like the final granule in an hourglass, and Kira let her head fall against the instrument panel with a quiet groan. Revenge. As simple and straightforward as anything could be, and it was all because of her. Because she had embarrassed the Romulans. “And Romulans never forget a grudge,” she sighed.

“Romulans?” Tom asked, a sad refrain from earlier. “No, it was… it was…” He mumbled himself into silence again, still trying to make the connection between what she was saying and what his mind was telling him couldn’t be. He had been programmed to focus only on the Cardassians. The Tal Shiar—or whoever had reworked him so thoroughly—hadn’t even allowed him to _conceive_ of Romulan involvement. If she had been there for that decision, she might have told them just how obvious that was.

“It’s all because of Derna,” she said. She sat back on her heels and looked up at Tom.

The absurdity of it all, the _enormity_ of what the Romulans were willing to do, just to strike back at Bajor for a small slight years earlier—it was staggering. She almost wanted to laugh. “I suppose they threw all of this together as fast as they could once they learned that Bajor was finally ready to join the Federation. Whatever they’d been cooking up since the war, it was tossed out the second it became clear that getting back at us would mean risking a conflict with the Federation. Romulan might just isn’t what it used to be, is it.”

She could see Tom struggling, and she knew he wanted to ask her what she was saying, why she was even sparing a second thought for the Romulans when Cardassians were there, and they could fight them. _He_ could finally fight them. The Romulans had programmed his hatred so deep that there was no way to tell where his own anger began and where their manufactured rage took over. They couldn’t have asked for a better operative.

“But it’s not enough to frame Bajoran extremists and some derelict Maquis for the murder of a Starfleet officer. To take advantage of that doubt we’re all still carrying around with us, and feed it until we’re willing to believe the worst in each other all over again. They had to really sell the lie,” she said. “Remind everyone what we’re capable of when we hate.”

There was a low warble from the interior of the instrument panel, and a hum began to build, growing louder by the second. Kira turned back to examine what little she’d even identified. The warhead must have been programmed to activate on some condition, and she realized too late that her efforts to find a way of disarming it had probably tripped the waiting trigger. For all she knew, just getting too close to it had started the arming sequence. Judging from the sound of it, the weapon was ready to detonate at any moment.

The point of the phaser’s muzzle digging into the side of her head was her only warning that Tom had moved. Maybe, she thought grimly, the Tal Shiar had invested more in his reprogramming than she originally assumed.

 

  
*

 

  
“Are you finished?”  
  
“No!” Damar snapped, storming furiously from one side of the _Defiant’s_ sickbay to the other. He held his breath for a moment and then blew it out in a great rush as he finally came to a stop. “Yes.”

“Good. Now, I have preparations to make, Damar. I understand your fear, and you have my sympathy, but—”

“I am not _afraid_ ,” Damar argued stiffly. He refused to allow Bashir to reduce his very valid anger down to such a simple emotional reaction. Damar was about to say as much when the doctor’s wry smile stopped him. He was speechless. Was Bashir really making jokes at a time like this?

“No, absolutely not,” Bashir agreed. “The lives of billions of Cardassians hang in the balance and you, of course, feel no fear. I’m sure your ego plays no part in that, either.” As he spoke, Bashir lifted and examined the contents of two vials.

Not for himself, but rather for the sake of those billions of Cardassians, Damar exclaimed, “It isn’t the same!” The anger was creeping back, winding its way up through his veins and threatening to pull him under again. It wasn’t some childish fear for himself or his legacy driving him; he feared for the unthinkable consequences of that failure. How could he not? The very notion that he might feel any differently was infuriating. Damar wondered if that was how Kira felt whenever she found a peaceful moment interrupted by some unpleasant reminder of her past. He wanted to storm out of Sickbay, shout, throw something at a wall and watch it shatter into a hundred satisfying pieces.

Instead he let the moment stand, allowing the silence to grow between them until he could no longer abide being so idle. Calmly, he said, “I need you to put me in contact with Kren.”

“I think it’s safe to assume that Kren has his hands full at the moment.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Damar snarled. “My access to communications has been restricted—probably Sisko’s doing.”

“And you would like for me to disregard the captain’s orders, use my security clearance to contact the surface, and help you do what, exactly?”

Damar didn’t know, not really, but he wasn’t prepared to tell Bashir that. “I might be able to help. I might—” He was close to begging. “Please, I have to do _something_.”

For a moment it seemed as though Bashir might insist upon his point, and put an end to Damar’s small act of rebellion before it could begin. But then he relented, wordlessly stepping over to a nearby console to pull up the communications interface. “Here.” He moved aside and let Damar take the seat.  
  
It wasn’t long before Kren’s dour face appeared on the screen before him. Damar had to hide a small shock that it had actually worked, and that Kren had bothered to answer. _“I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried to involve yourself in this,”_ he groused. _“Remind me to have a word with that doctor of yours.”_  
  
“I’m certain you’ll have more than one word for me,” Bashir muttered from where he stood off to the side.  
  
Kren grunted. _“So? If you’re going to tell me you want to beam down here—”_  
  
“How many search teams are you operating? Are you running repeated sensor sweeps of all known subterranean structures?” Damar asked in one great rush. “If you cannot locate the other warheads you will have to begin evacuation procedures, beginning with the Civil Assembly and the most densely populated cities. Have you started?”  
  
_“You’re more interested in running the Union now than you have been for the past three and a half years.”_  
  
Damar pounded his fist against the console and shouted, “This is serious, Kren!”  
  
_“Of course it’s serious! Do you think I don’t have every available man and woman scouring Cardassia centimeter by centimeter for those warheads? I know what’s at stake!”_

Misery drained Damar of his remaining righteous fury, and he set his head in his hands. His elbows were braced against the console beside the low, flat screen. A hand came down on his back to pat him gently, and although Kren could only see him, Damar tensed. He felt weak enough without Bashir’s human empathy confirming how pathetic he truly was. “What can I do?” he asked.

Kren shook his head. _“Nothing. You’d only die with the rest of us if you came down here now. Stay aboard the_ Defiant _. Trust me and my men to do what needs to be done, and trust your woman to save our sorry hides again if we can’t.”_

Damar started to chuckle at that, but then he froze. He could feel Bashir’s palm flatten and press down against his back. “What do you mean?” he demanded breathlessly. “Kira’s down there?”

Kren shrugged his mechanical shoulder. _“She beamed down a few minutes ago.”_

“Damar…” Bashir warned. He kept up the light pressure on Damar’s back. “Before you do anything rash, I want you to think about this.”

Kira was on the surface. It meant little if she was out on the streets, attempting to coordinate evacuation efforts; cobalt diselenide wouldn’t harm a Bajoran the way it would a Cardassian. But Damar was no fool; if she was down there, she was going after Riker. That meant that if they _did_ fail, if the Romulans truly were as depraved and callous as everyone feared, she would be at the epicenter of the blast that would spread the first wave of the nerve agent throughout the planet’s atmosphere. He had already considered that he might ignore Kren’s warning to stay aboard the _Defiant_ , now he was certain.

_“Don’t even think about it,”_ Kren growled. He turned aside and said to someone off screen, _“Get me Captain Sisko. Now.”_

Damar was up and out of the seat, moving toward the door. He had shrugged off Bashir’s attempts to slow him, and ignored Kren as he shouted orders and warnings Damar was under no obligation to heed. He was still Cardassia’s leader, for however long that meant something.

“If you go down there now,” Bashir called after him, “Riker may panic. What little time we have may disappear. Do you want that? Is it worth one life, Damar?”

Maybe not. Kira had made her decision, despite knowing the risks, and if her duty demanded she would die to see it through. But he saw no reason she had to die alone.

 

  
Security had other ideas. They stopped him before he could approach the closest transporter room. “We’re going to have to ask you to stand down, Legate.”

He sneered at their feigned politeness. “Remind me which of your precious Federation principles allows you to detain foreign officials against their will.”

“Sir, we’re only—”

“I’ll handle this.”

Damar let his eyes slide shut and sighed at the sound of Nog’s voice. The one person aboard who was more infuriating than Bashir, and twice as determined to make his life difficult. “Lieutenant,” Damar hissed.

“Return to your posts,” Nog said to the two officers who had formed a physical barrier to Damar’s march on the transporter. He quickly took their place, perhaps assuming that Damar wouldn’t simply push him out of the way.

Nog stared up at him, apparently daring him to do so, and Damar weighed his options. He entertained no notion that he might convince the small ferengi to let him pass on the merits of his self-appointed mission. On the other hand, assaulting one of Sisko’s officers might land him in the brig.

“Let’s go,” Nog said suddenly. He turned on his heel and began a march—not away from the transporter room, but _toward it_. Damar could only stare, slack-jawed and admittedly at a complete loss for words, until Nog stopped and spun around with an exasperated sigh. “Are you coming, or not?”

“You’re helping me?”

Nog began to walk again, and this time Damar hurried to follow. “I don’t understand,” he admitted.

“Even _if_ you somehow managed to reach a transporter on your own, they’ve all been locked down on Captain Sisko’s orders. And you don’t even know where she is, anyway.”

That wasn’t something Damar had even considered. “I still don’t—”

Nog cut him off. “Does it really matter?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “I beamed the colonel to the surface myself. I know exactly where she is. If you don’t screw up, you might be able to get her out of there in time.”

In time to prevent her death, was what Nog didn’t say. Damar tried to ignore the other, darker implication. The one he wasn’t sure even Nog had considered. Kira would survive. It would only be the rest of Cardassia that Damar left behind to choke on poisoned air.

They reached the transporter room, and just as Nog had promised, the door wouldn’t even open until he keyed in the appropriate security code. Suddenly the gesture of blindly charging off after the woman he loved seemed far less grand than Damar had originally envisioned. “Step up on the pad. I’ll beam you down to the same coordinates.” Nog waited for him to turn around and then unclipped the phaser from his belt and tossed it to Damar. “You might need this.”

Damar caught it easily. He tucked it into his own waistband and straightened up. “Thank you,” he said.

Nog gave him a nod in return. “Colonel Kira is my friend. I’ve lost enough of those already.”

“I’ll do my best to help her.” He watched Nog unlock the transporter controls and begin keying in the coordinates. While he waited, the anticipation and the fear curling in his gut, Damar thought about exactly where he was going. About what might happen even if he located Kira. “If I do fail, at least you’ll have finally gotten rid of me,” he joked grimly.

The transporter activated as Nog smirked and said, “Don’t think I haven’t considered that.”

 

  
*

 

  
Tom’s hand on her shoulder gently urged Kira to her feet, and she stood. He plucked the combadge from her uniform and threw it away into the surrounding darkness. They were truly alone then, and she had no way of knowing which Tom Riker was in that chamber with her anymore. He had been so broken by the Romulan reprogramming that he might just pull the trigger without a second thought. Without remorse. She wondered if there would be a part of him that regretted it.

“Are you going to shoot me, Tom?” she asked. If she could only reach that lucid piece of him that the Romulans hadn’t touched, remind him who she was, maybe she could convince him to help her. Maybe there was still a chance that they could stop this before it was too late. She tried to work from what she had seen of his reactions to different subjects and phrases. “I know... _they_ probably didn’t give you any way to disarm these yourself,” she began, carefully avoiding the mention of Romulans _or_ Cardassians. Both words seemed to reset him back to some sort of baseline conditioning. One did so by triggering blind refusal to even so much as acknowledge what she was saying, and the other, seething hatred.

“It’s too late,” he said almost sadly. “I don’t know anything.”

“Maybe,” she hedged, “maybe you do, but you don’t know it. Think, Tom.” Anything at all might turn out to be the key to stopping the warheads from detonating—assuming there was time. She couldn’t even tell how long they had left anymore.

Tom’s brows pinched together in confusion and he dropped his eyes down to his feet. He looked like a hurt child, and for a moment Kira’s heart ached for him. Whatever the Romulans had done to achieve such results, it must have been too horrible to imagine. Tom was a lot of things, not all of them great, but he had never seemed so… lost. He had faced life in a Cardassian prison camp with a soldier’s grim acceptance, without an attempt to bargain for a better way out. The little glimpses of the real Tom that she was sure she’d seen made her think that, if he had been liberated with the other prisoners after Damar’s return, he might have made it. He might have been able to find a life for himself. The Romulans took that opportunity away from him.

The Tom Riker she knew would have hated them more than even the Cardassians for what they’d done. Kira seized on that. “There were blankets, torn up and scattered around the floor of the _Waimea_. That was you, wasn’t it? You couldn’t sleep in the bunk. You’d been on the floor of a cell for so long it was hard to fall asleep any other way.”

Tom’s hand began to shake. He gulped in air like he was drowning. “That was—it was the only peace I had,” he rasped.

“They did that because they wanted to use you to hurt me, Tom.” What they really wanted was to humiliate Bajor and wrench the Bajoran people away from their allies. To make them vulnerable. They were willing to do a lot of terrible things to achieve that goal. But Tom had lit up when he’d seen her that day in the docking ring. She had to believe some it was genuine. “They want to hurt Bajor. And if you don’t help me now, they’ll be able to do it. I know the kind of man you are. I know you don’t want that.”

He was nodding along with her as she spoke, and there was a new clarity in his eyes. He was breaking through. Kira’s heart was playing springball against her chest. She started to reach for him, her open palm extended toward the phaser, and Tom was reaching out to give it to her.

“That’s enough,” she heard Damar say. He was a few paces behind Tom, his own weapon raised.

Tom’s eyes hardened and he gripped his phaser tight. He whirled around and fired without aiming, sending the pulse of phaser fire wide and scattering debris across the chamber floor. It had hit a spot just a meter above Damar’s head. Not exactly deadly, but still too close to ignore. Damar ducked to the side and threw himself out of Tom’s line of fire, disappearing behind a low formation of black rock.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Kira shouted. She had moved around to the back of the warhead, putting it between her and Tom, and crouched as low as she could without taking her eyes off the other two. As she had hoped, he seemed reluctant to fire in that direction. She couldn’t be sure if it was for her sake or the subconscious imperative to avoid damaging or prematurely setting off the warhead, but under the circumstances she would take either.

“Helping you!” Damar called back. He glanced over the top of the rocks and aimed a single shot at Tom, only to miss.

Kira fought the urge to laugh. She was going to die because Damar loved her.

Actually, that sounded about right.

“You need to leave!” she tried to tell him past the continual screech of Tom’s phaser. He was firing at Damar over and over from behind a jutting piece of rock, and he seemed determined to kill Damar or bring the chamber down around them trying.

Damar chuckled bitterly and said, “I would like to, believe me!” The rattle of tumbling shards of rock ceased just long enough for him to lean over the top of his barrier and fire in Tom’s direction. As before, he hit nothing. “But I won’t be going without you!”

“The situation is under control, contact the _Defiant_ and have them beam you back. If this thing goes off—”

“Under control?” Damar asked just as a hail of obsidian rained down on him. He coughed and muttered curses under his breath. “Really?”

“He was about to give me the phaser! You have to go, I can handle this!”

She could hear Damar’s disbelieving scoff even over the noise of Tom’s attacks. If she could only convince him to go, and somehow bring Tom back to that calm, nearly lucid place he had reached before… But as long as her life was in danger, Damar wouldn’t leave. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to make him believe that she was safe while Tom had a phaser in his hand.

This wasn’t how she had thought she would die. Not that she’d given the matter much thought since the end of the war, but—

“Tom, you don’t want to die here,” she called to him. For just a moment the repeated blasts of phaser fire stopped, and she could tell Tom had heard her. She continued, “If we don’t do something about that warhead, it’s going to go off, and it’ll take all of us with it. I don’t want to die, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to, either.”

Maybe, just _maybe_ , the Romulans hadn’t thought to tamper with his self-preservation. She was staking her life—and the life of every Cardassian on the planet—on that vague hope, but at the moment that was the best she could do. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Tom?”

“Kira, I—” He cut himself off with a strangled sound. “You might have to shoot me, Kira.”

The relief that brought her was short lived; Tom was still in there, but he was struggling, and he must not have been doing well if he believed the only answer was his death. At least, she mused grimly, he had asked for it to be at her hands. If he was suicidal, he could just as easily let time and a very obviously armed warhead do the work for him. “I can’t do that,” she said.

Damar was blessedly silent, and Kira made a quick and silent prayer to the Prophets that he stayed that way.

“Do you know what’s happening, Tom?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then said, “I do. I think—I think I do. But there’s nothing I can tell you. I don’t even know how long...”

How long he would have control of his own mind, was what he didn’t—or couldn’t—say. Kira had been gripping the struts of the warhead’s casing, and she let her forehead rest against the cool metal for just a few seconds as she processed what was happening, and tried to find a way out of it. “We’ll help you, Tom,” she promised.

Tom was silent, and she wanted to take that for acceptance, but something told her it was an answer to a similar promise she had made and failed to carry through eight years earlier.

“There’s a Cardassian in here,” Tom said, sounding curious. At least he wasn’t launching into another round of attacks on Damar. “Why?”

Kira could hear Damar shifting in the rubble where he was hiding from Tom’s phaser. “That’s Legate Damar,” she said quickly, hoping to stall both men. Chances were good _one_ of them would do something stupid in the next few minutes. The longer she could put it off, the better for all of them. “He’s Cardassia’s leader.”

Anger darkening his words, Tom asked, “And he’s here to stop me? To kill me?”

“To save _me_ ,” Kira reassured him.

Something about that must have clashed with whatever Romulan reconditioning was working to pull the fog of hatred back over Tom’s thoughts, because he said nothing. Kira could almost feel his mind working, and she hoped it was working in their favor. Finally, he asked, “You’re with him?”

That struck uncomfortably close to a truth that Tom couldn’t possibly have known. She understood what he’d meant, but it was hard to shake the surprise. Still, there was no point in denying it, especially after she had confirmed that Damar was there for her. “Yes,” she said. “Don’t you remember? There’s peace, Tom. Bajor and Cardassia are allies now.” Again. It was the refrain from an old tune, one even she found herself doubting sometimes—and she was in love with the man largely responsible for it. Tom definitely didn’t need to know that, though. “Things aren’t the same as they were when you—when you left.”

“No,” Tom agreed. There was a familiar note beneath the easy acceptance, and it worried her. Her fears were confirmed when, in the next breath, he added, “If even Bajor can be taken in so easily, then they’re a _lot_ worse,” and fired on Damar’s position again.

“ _Damn it_ ,” Kira cursed. To Damar, she yelled, “I’m going to try to disable the warhead!”

Damar returned fire blindly and laughed. “By all means,” he called back to her between attacks. There was little confidence in his endorsement.

She was able to turn the warhead’s casing enough to gain access to the instrument panel, but it hardly seemed necessary; Tom wasn’t interested in attacking her, as far as she could tell. He hadn’t so much as made a move in her direction since Damar appeared.

“Kira!” Damar called over the din of the phaser.

Something sparked between her fingers when she tried to twist a thin cable from its dock, and she jerked her hand back with a hiss. “A little busy!”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he grunted between attempts to stun Tom. She hoped his weapon was on stun, anyway. “I only wanted to apologize. For earlier.” It was spoken so that she could barely hear him over the sounds of battle that rattled around the chamber.

“Be more specific,” Kira said, “there’s a lot of earlier.” She had a small filament clenched tightly between her teeth, making it difficult to speak.

Damar growled from across the chamber. “We may not have much time left, can’t you simply accept my apology?”

“I’ll let you know when we get out of here, how does that sound?”

He answered her glib reassurance with silence, but even between the continual rounds of phaser fire she thought she could feel the weight of his regret. Or maybe it was her own; they weren’t leaving that chamber, and they both knew it. Not unless Tom had an abrupt and miraculous change of heart. “Damar,” she began, but she wasn’t able to finish the thought; a familiar voice cut through the noise, bouncing off the black glass around them and masking its source. It was Kren.

_“Colonel? Are you there?”_ he asked. When no reply came he repeated himself, and then again, trying to reach her and growing more concerned with each attempt. _“Colonel? Can you answer me?”_

It was impossible to pinpoint the communicator’s exact location between the phaser and the clatter of rubble, even when Kira strained to hear. Damar finally called out, “Aren’t you going to answer him?”

“I would if I could,” Kira said flatly. She was crouched low, bent around the back of the warhead, trying to pick out the source of Kren’s voice from the echoes. “I don’t suppose _you_ could do it?”

There was a pause. Then, “Damar to Kren.”

_“Damn it, I just_ knew _you’d get down there somehow. Where are you?”_ Kren demanded.

“Where do you _think?_ What’s your status?” Another hail of shattered rock rained down on Damar’s position, and he made a strangled sound of pain in the back of his throat.

_“A lot better than yours, I’d wager,”_ Kren grumbled. _“In fact, it’s much better.”_

Damar’s answer was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m overjoyed to hear it.”

_“No.”_ Kira could hear Kren sigh on the other end of the channel. _“Listen to me: it’s_ much _better here. Do you understand?”_

They had located the other warheads—maybe even disarmed them. Kira’s heart almost leapt into her throat when she realized how close they were to walking away from this _alive_. Kren was an old soldier, and he was clever; he’d already figured out from Kira’s silence on the comm that things were rough at their location, and he didn’t want to alert Tom to their success just yet. The risk was too great that he might detonate the remaining warhead as a fail safe.

Only Damar hadn’t yet picked up on the real meaning of Kren’s message, and he and he was growing frustrated with the answers he was receiving. “We’re a little busy here!” he snarled at his comm.

There was no time to let them hash it out. If Kren’s search teams could disarm the weapons without Tom’s cooperation, then their new priority was eliminating the threat he posed.

Another broken promise.

“Damar, you have to take him out!” she shouted across the chamber.


	11. Chapter 11

_Take him out?_ Damar wondered just what it was that Kira thought he had been trying to do for the last twenty minutes. “I’ll do that the moment he decides to make himself a target!” he yelled over another shot from Riker.

She shouted back, “Well, he’s not going to, so think of something!”

Holding the Starfleet phaser close to his chest, Damar took a very deep, very steadying breath. “I’m open to suggestions,” he growled, despite his attempt at affecting an even temper. “Or would you prefer I simply throw the phaser to you?”

“Rocks, Damar!”

Rocks?

Another wide shot from Riker sent a scattering of jagged obsidian shards raining down upon his position, and Damar flinched away just in time. He had _rocks_ in abundance—what he needed was an opportunity. He was a good shot, and his low-light vision was far superior to the human’s. Damar was certain that if it hadn’t been for the convenient jut of stone that was protecting Riker’s flank from attack, their battle would have been over already.

 _“How did you survive the Dominion long enough to even conceive of a rebellion? Shoot the rocks over Riker!”_ Kren bellowed from Damar’s combadge.

“Why are you still on the channel?!”

He could hear commotion in the background on Kren’s end; they were mobilizing, possibly even heading for his position. The thought was heartening, at least until Kren snapped, _“Stop asking questions and shoot!”_

With a muttered curse, Damar arched himself over the top of his shelter on the trailing end of Riker’s last shot, quickly searching for a likely target and firing. The plan seemed absurdly simple to him, but nevertheless there was a satisfying _crack_ , followed by the sound of tumbling stone. Riker let out a pained cry, and somehow, amidst all the commotion, Damar heard a weapon clatter across the ground. He was up and moving before the dust had cleared; he raised his weapon and fired once where he was sure Riker must have fallen.

A last rain of small, harmless shards fell upon the prone form of Thomas Riker as the dust cleared, and Damar finally allowed himself the luxury of relaxing. He moved quickly to seize Riker’s weapon—Kira’s phaser pistol, the one she favored so much. It was set to kill, which shouldn’t have surprised him. A thought of how easily Riker could have turned his weapon on her abruptly seized him like cold water, and for a few terrible seconds Damar felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

Then, from behind him, he heard a wary, “Are you alright?” from Kira.

He nodded, not interested in words at the moment.

She asked, “Is _he_ alright?”

Damar spun on his heel. She thought—

Had she really believed he intended to _kill_ Riker? “He’s _unconscious_ ,” he said with perhaps more venom than necessary. When Kira’s expression turned defensive, he held up the weapons in his hands to show that his own had been on the stun setting. “Despite what you and Kren believe, I know better than to destroy our best chance of making it out alive.”

“And is that why you came down here when you were supposed to stay aboard the _Defiant?_ I had the situation under control.” She took the pistol when he handed it to her, angrily holstering it at her hip.

Damar snorted, but didn’t bother to disagree. Instead, he said to Kren, “I assume you’re still eavesdropping. How do we disarm the warhead?”

_“We’re en route to your location now. They’re on a cascading timer—once we deactivated the first it reset the other three, so you’re in no danger where you are. My men will handle the deactivation once we arrive. It takes a delicate touch.”_

“Which I am capable of administering,” Damar pointed out.

Kren grunted and said, _“Not how it sounds from my end.”_

Damar slapped his loaned Starfleet combadge and closed the channel. “It may have escaped your notice,” he said, turning to Kira, “but I am not your subordinate, nor do I take orders from Captain Sisko or Doctor Bashir.” He paused to take a moment and bring his anger back under control. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of what had happened earlier on the ship. “Riker could have killed you. Did you expect I would just ignore that? That I would do nothing?”

“I know why you came down here. But did it ever occur to _you_ that I wanted you to stay up on the _Defiant_ for the same reason?”

That—

He hadn’t thought of it that way. Damar sighed a scrubbed a hand over his face. He was suddenly exhausted. The bruises he expected; it was the bone-deep weariness that caught him off-guard. It occurred to him that this was the first combat he’d seen in years. “No,” he admitted. “I was so consumed with the thought of rescuing you—”

“I don’t need rescuing, Damar.”

He frowned. “I know that. Better than most. You’ll forgive me if I still try.”

As the sound of an approaching party reached them from the nearest tunnel, Kira said with the hint of a smile, “Of course I will.”

Kren clearing his throat in a very obvious fashion was their warning that the others had made their way to the central chamber at last. “Over there,” he indicated, waving his hand light in the direction of the warhead. Two members of the team immediately made their way over to the open instrument panel on the side of the weapon and went to work disabling its arming systems. Despite the _delicate touch_ that the mechanism supposedly required, they had the warhead disarmed and ready for transport up to the _Defiant_ in under ten minutes. Kren accompanied the two technicians and their deadly payload, leaving Kira and Damar alone with Riker, who was now secured by a small handful of Cardassian soldiers. Riker’s presence notwithstanding, it was oddly reminiscent of an earlier time. One that felt like a lifetime ago, when he and Kira had been grudging allies. Now they were much more, and he had never felt so uncomfortable in the presence of his own people.

Damar wondered if any of them had asked themselves why their cherished leader had thrown himself at certain death upon learning that a Bajoran colonel might be in danger. Surely they must have overheard the earlier confrontation over the _Defiant’s_ comm? But these were hand-picked soldiers, men and women who had, somehow, passed Kren’s rigorous and often unreasonable tests of character. Kren himself was openly fond of Bajorans and Bajoran culture; would his influence be enough to allay their suspicions? Suspicions, Damar noted with a private frown for himself, that might not even exist. It was entirely reasonable to assume that the others had been too busy to pay very close attention to what Kren was shouting at Damar over the comm.

They had no such luck, of course; there was a furtive glance in Kira’s direction, and then another. One of them—a glinn—at least made an effort to appear as though he hadn’t been looking, but it was obvious that the younger Cardassian’s attention was focused on anything _but_ his duty. Damar folded his arms across his chest and sighed through his nose. He planned to say something the next time he caught one of them, but missed the opportunity when a sudden call drew everyone back to the task at hand.

“Understood,” the young glinn replied to Kren’s indecipherable growl over the comm. He turned, not toward Damar, but Kira, and said, “Colonel, the warhead has been secured aboard the _Defiant_.”

Kira looked over at Damar, plainly confused, and then turned back to the soldier. “Good,” she said.

There was a strange moment of total silence that followed, and all eyes in the chamber were suddenly focused on Kira. Right away it occurred to Damar was that Kren had probably told them to report to Kira in his absence, rather than Damar. It didn’t surprise him in the least. In fact it probably explained some of the nervous glances. But then he stopped to consider what was actually happening, and he realized that he could not detect so much as a hint of condescension or disdain in the way the glinn had spoken to Kira. He'd merely waited patiently for further instructions. From a Bajoran. Even Damar’s most trusted men hadn’t been so casually respectful during the early days of his rebellion. They had relied on her, desperately needed her expertise and the supplies she brought with her from Starfleet, and yet they had nevertheless shunned and dismissed her at every possible turn. To see anything else was, quite frankly, shocking.

His mind was racing. Was it all of them? Some were—not frowning, exactly… They must have known, or assumed correctly from the evidence. Kren wouldn’t have bothered with discretion as he rushed to warn Captain Sisko of Damar’s intentions, after all. To say nothing of his arrival in the underground chamber. Anyone with half the wit of a drunk Nausicaan could have guessed what it was he intended to interrupt.

Damar thought back to his old friends. His comrades of so many years. Someone like Rusot would have reacted with open aggression. A Cardassian born at the height of the Occupation, drip fed every ounce of anti-Bajoran propaganda the Union could churn out, until the source of that hate was practically another organ within his own body. Rusot had never questioned what he had been taught about the people subjugated by his own, or why it had happened in the first place. But younger Cardassians had seen firsthand the devastating effects of the Union’s failed policies. They had come of age at the opening of a sharp decline in the alleged greatness of the Cardassian state. Cynicism must have given way to a willingness to search past the lies, and the Dominion certainly hadn’t helped any, he was sure.

Maybe Kren was right after all. Maybe they had simply been forced to face the truth.

Something like hope filled him as he realized what the tempered, and to an extent even positive response to their secret might mean. For Cardassia, certainly, but also for Bajor. For everyone. Unfortunately he was given no time to examine the feeling; only a moment later they were informed that it would soon be their turn to beam back aboard the _Defiant_. Riker’s unconscious body was hefted between two soldiers, transported first, and—Damar assumed—directly to the brig. Not long after that he and Kira were standing on the transport pad aboard the _Defiant_.

Captain Sisko was waiting for them. “Colonel,” he said crisply, and with a note of approval not diminished by his outwardly stern demeanor. “Excellent work. Doctor Bashir is seeing to Mister Riker in the brig. I thought you might like to catch up with him there.” It was not the friendly suggestion it seemed, but rather Sisko’s own particular way of giving an order. Kira answered with a curt nod and marched briskly from the transporter room, leaving Damar alone with the captain.

Sensing the oncoming tension, Damar cleared his throat. “Should I have gone with her?” he asked, daring to risk a bit of sarcasm in his pique. The guilt he felt towards Kira did not extend to the captain, nor would he apologize for what he had done. Strangely, he _did_ find himself concerned for what might have become of Lieutenant Nog. After the young Ferengi’s assistance breaking the captain’s transporter lockdown, Sisko might have confined him to quarters to await a stern lecture, or he might have delivered a harsher punishment. Unfortunately, at the moment Damar wasn’t in much of a position to inquire about his co-conspirator.

“I don’t think the brig is the best place for an important _official_ like you,” Sisko rumbled menacingly. “Why don’t you accompany me to my ready room, instead.” Like his exchange with Kira, it was not a request. Damar followed the captain out of the transporter room and through the corridors of the _Defiant_ , arriving at the small room, where he found himself facing the sharp gray interior and its austere decor. Damar remained standing in front of the desk. The captain took a seat.

“Captain Sisko, I—”

“Before you start shoveling excuses for your actions, why don’t we take a moment to establish exactly who is in command here, since it seems like you may need reminding. This is _my_ ship, Damar, and I don’t give a damn if you’re the leader of the Cardassian Union, President of the Federation, or Emperor Kahless himself. You will obey my orders while you’re aboard this vessel, and that includes observing all rules and restrictions set by me or my officers.

“Now, since we’re already discussing your behavior, why don’t we move on to the somewhat less-than-subtle opinions you expressed outside of the bridge earlier. And before you ask, yes, the walls here can be pretty damned thin at times.” He was only just shy of shouting, but it had the same effect; Damar found himself leaning away without meaning to. “Now, I don’t care _what_ your opinions are of the way the Federation has aided you, fed your people, administered life-saving healthcare to every planet and colony within the Cardassian Union, or shared its material resources—resources that are sorely needed in every corner of the quadrant, even now. What I do care about is making sure all of that effort hasn’t gone to waste.” He took out a padd and slapped it down on the desk. “This is Doctor Bashir’s report on your current condition. I’m sure you’ll agree that the care he’s provided so far is top-of-the-line, and the offer he’s made to you regarding your future treatment is more than generous.”

Damar picked up the padd. It contained every scrap of medical data that had been gathered on him since his arrival at the school in Kendra Province, unconscious and bleeding. There were even a few incomplete notes speculating on injuries he’d sustained during the war and the ensuing rebellion. “This is none of your business!” he shouted, tossing the padd back onto the desk.

“Wrong!” Sisko barked. “You’re an investment, Legate Damar. I could weave a tapestry from the strings that have been pulled to keep you alive and sitting behind that desk on Cardassia Prime. Do you think this stability comes without a price? If you do, I have disappointing news for you: we all have to pay _something_ to keep this machine from blowing up in our faces and taking everything we love along with it. So, it turns out you’re _not_ the completely self-sufficient leader you thought you’d be when you returned home. You’ve got people looking over your shoulder now. Maybe that’s the cost of walking away from eighteen months of waging war on behalf of the Dominion before you grew a conscience!”

It was nothing like Sisko’s well-aimed and remarkably effective lecture during Damar’s encounter with the orb. Then the captain had been sincere, considerate in his approach to the wisdom he was attempting to impart. It was a hard-learned lesson, certainly, but compared to the lashing Damar was being treated to now, the last time had been almost _gentle_. He waited in silence, half expecting there to be more. But Sisko seemed to have burned off most of his immediate anger; the captain’s posture relaxed, he sat back in his chair and flattened his palms together, placing each fingertip against the other. “I understand your frustration,” he continued calmly. “I’m sure none of this has been easy for you. Going from being the Dominion’s puppet to what seems like the Federation’s probably doesn’t sit well with you, and I can’t say that I would like it much either if I were in your shoes. But you need to recognize that this is _nothing_ like what you were dealing with before. We aren’t your masters, Damar. We’re your allies. The investment made in you is an investment in the entire Alpha Quadrant. It’s no more or less than we would have done for anyone in your position.

“I told you once that saving the Cardassian Union would take the will to face the man you were. That includes accepting that things _aren’t_ going to be like they were before. You have had expectations placed upon you, Damar. I think you’d agree that it’s a small price to pay for the past.”

They had never spoken of their exchange during his orb experience; even after Sisko’s return, he had gone about every interaction with Damar as though it had never happened. At times, often late at night when he couldn’t sleep, Damar found himself wondering if perhaps it hadn’t. But Sisko wasn’t holding anything back now, and even that strange encounter seemed to be on the table if it meant making his point. Damar still wasn’t finished with his most immediate grievance, however: “And that includes dictating the details of my personal life? Even going so far as to make decisions for me about my health?” he asked.

“I don’t think anyone would mind if this were a toothache, but we’re talking about your _life_ , Damar. It seems like you need a little bit of perspective. At the very least, you could use a reminder of what’s at stake here. The Cardassian Union has made a remarkable recovery, and a lot of that can be attributed to the efforts of you and your government. You’ve fulfilled nearly every promise made to your allies since you first returned to power. You’ve even earned the assistance of the _Romulans_ —for all that it seems to have been little more than a plot to sabotage Bajor, of course. But we’re going to take care of that for you, too. Do you think you could have come out of this with a better deal?”

Perhaps not. The captain was right about that much. Still, there was a line, and Sisko had crossed it when he presumed to impose restrictions on Damar’s involvement in the affairs of his own empire. “But—”

“And as for _dictating the details of your personal life,_ ” Sisko pointedly interrupted, leaving Damar to huff petulantly, “as I understand it, no one but Kren has given you any indication of their disapproval regarding your relationship with Colonel Kira. I would think you’d be used to that by now.”

It was jarring, hearing the captain speak of it so openly. Even those who knew tended to speak vaguely when referring to the relationship. Damar caught himself frowning at the captain’s frankness, and he turned away, frustrated with himself as much as the constant fear of exposure. “If the walls are as thin as you say, perhaps you shouldn’t be so loud about it,” he muttered.

“Do you think that bracelet the colonel is wearing has just slipped everyone’s notice? Even you can’t be that naive.” The captain set his forearm on the desktop and leaned forward. Damar had a feeling it was intended to seem conspiratorial, even reassuring. It was neither. “And the walls are only as thin as _I_ say they are. There isn’t a soul aboard this ship who would jeopardize your administration, or the partnership between Bajor and Cardassia, for the sake of gossip.” He sat up again, and this time the look he gave Damar sent a chill down the Cardassian’s spine. “That being said, Nerys may be willing to forgive your outburst, but I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t have the same sort of patience for you that she does. If you have a problem with the way relations between the Federation and the Cardassian Union have been conducted since your return, you take that up with me—you take it up with Admiral Ross. You can even take it up with _Doctor Bashir_ the next time he confines you to the Infirmary for three weeks. But if I _ever_ hear you speak to my first officer like that again, I will make it a special point to _personally_ correct your behavior.”

He had been threatened by Shakaar in much the same vein, but he had never felt as though he was in any real danger. It was bluster, meant to impress upon him how much Shakaar cared for Kira as one of his closest friends, and how far he would go to protect her. It had been uncomfortable, yes, but not entirely unexpected given Damar’s history with her.

Sisko’s threat, however, was sincere.

Damar bristled at the very idea that he needed such a warning. He’d lost his temper, not _attacked her_. And she was hardly innocent of doing the same herself when the mood struck her. “Captain, I have seen Kira take a hit from a phaser and keep fighting; do you really believe I’m capable of harming her with _words?_ ”

“You are more capable of harming her than _anyone else,_ Damar.”

The real meaning of the captain’s words struck Damar silent. He was torn between humiliation and a fury he felt toward Sisko that had been building all day. He decided then that if the captain could use their encounter to his benefit, then it was only fair Damar should do the same. “ _You_ encouraged me to pursue her,” he said angrily, “ _you_ threw us together at every possible opportunity, even when we were desperately trying to avoid one another. Why? Why, if all of these things you’ve said are true, and you feel I’m such a danger to her?”

But the captain was unfazed, even when Damar tried to stare him down. He hadn’t so much as blinked when he was reminded of his part in their misfortune. “We all have the unfortunate power to hurt the people we love,” he said. The tone of his voice had changed again, and some of the anger had faded. For a moment he sounded so much like he had during the orb encounter that Damar had to remind himself it was still real. “You and Nerys have a particularly... rough history, and that gives you a bit more insight into one another, but it also blinds you to the damage you’re able to inflict. If I thought you were a real danger to her, I would have put a stop to it the second you opened that orb box.” Sisko stood then, straightening his uniform with a tug. “But you of all people should understand all the ways one person can hurt another. I’ve come to expect better of you than what happened earlier. That you came to your senses and tried to make it right before it was too late is the only reason we’re having this conversation.”

“Tried to—” Damar froze.

 _No._ It was impossible that Sisko could know why he had gone down to the surface after Kira. To save her, yes—but the apology, the guilt that compelled him, that was something private. Something that had passed between only the two of them. _He couldn’t have known._ Not unless—

Not unless the captain knew far more than he had _ever_ let on. What was it he'd said, that day they had shared lunch together aboard the station?  _“I had better things to do than observe the minor details of your life.”_ Only now it seemed that hadn't been true at all.

“You knew all of this would happen,” Damar said numbly. “The biogenic weapons, the Romulan plot—you even knew that Lieutenant Nog would help me get past your transporter lockdown. Didn’t you?” That was why he had been so sure that they would discover the weapons in time. It was also why he had sent Kira down there alone, and left Kren to search for the rest of the warheads. His confidence on the bridge hadn’t been bravado—it was certainty. He’d seen it already; he knew what would happen.

A coy smile crossed Sisko’s face. It was so unlike his grim and menacing scowl from earlier that Damar could only stare, stunned by what he had always privately believed to be impossible, yet could no longer deny.

“If that were true,” the captain said airily, “then that would sound a lot like _fate_ , to me.”

Damar responded automatically, “I don’t believe in fate.”

“Then it doesn’t _really_ matter, does it?” Sisko asked. His smile spread to a wide grin, full of teeth. He seemed so pleased with himself. The gravity of it left Damar speechless. “Now,” Sisko said, perking up suddenly, “we have some time before we break orbit and return to the station. Maybe you should take the opportunity to go finish up that apology you started down on the surface.”

It _wasn’t_ a suggestion.

 

  
*

 

  
“I’ve given him a mild stimulant to allow him to wake more naturally. It may make it easier for you to speak with him, but you should still try not to get him too excited. Between the reconditioning he’s endured courtesy of the Romulans, and all that’s happened over the past few days, he’s in a rather fragile state.” Julian handed her a padd. “Try to note any abrupt changes in focus, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Will that help you treat him?”

Julian nodded. “Learning which triggers reset his conditioning may be the key to unlocking which aspects of his behavior are natural, and which were artificially implanted.”

“I’ll do my best. How long will it be?”

“Not long. Three or four minutes, by my estimate. Good luck.” He left after that, and Kira was alone with Tom. The security officer stationed at the controls had already been asked to wait outside. It would be easier, they had decided, to reach out to Tom without distractions.

Julian’s estimate turned out to be nearly exact; Tom stirred at just under the four minute mark. He had been lying back on the bench in the holding cell, his arms carefully folded over his middle. Kira found herself wondering if it was the first peaceful sleep he’d had since abandoning his post aboard the _Gandhi_. If the state of the runabout’s crew quarters was any indication, sedation was probably the next best thing to bliss.

He groaned. “Where…”

“You’re on the _Defiant_ , Tom,” she said. No reason to surprise him when he finally noticed that she was standing there. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?”

Kira nodded. “Dax and Doctor Bashir are going to treat you for now. After that, Captain Sisko has arranged for you to be taken back to Earth. You’ll get the best care,” she assured him.

“What happened to me?” Tom sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bench. He wavered for a moment, and then his back met the wall of the cell and he sucked in a breath. “Feels like I was punched by a Klingon.” He looked up through bleary eyes. “Was I punched by a Klingon?”

“No,” Kira shook her head. “No Klingons. A lot’s happened to you, Tom. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to try and explain it all, but I want you to know that all we want now is to help you.”

“Is that why I’m in the brig?”

She should have anticipated that he wouldn’t simply take her word for it. After all that had been done to him, all that hadn’t been done _for_ him, she really couldn’t blame him for not trusting her. “It’s for your safety as much as ours,” she explained as gently as possible. “You’re not… _you_ right now. Does that make sense?”

He seemed to think about that for a long time. Finally said, “I think I know what you mean. I think—I think I did some things I wouldn’t like.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Nothing feels right.”

“Right now you need to rest. When we get you back to the station you’ll see Dax and Julian. And I’ll be there.”

“Dax,” Tom repeated. He smirked. “As I recall, I still owe her some latinum.”

Kira’s heart sank. The reminder of just how much he had missed felt like a knife to the gut. “Things have…” She stopped herself. It wasn’t the time. “Get some rest. I’ll come visit you again when you wake up. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Don’t stay away too long.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

 

  
Damar was waiting for her in the hallway outside. “You sure you don’t want to run in there and startle him?” she asked.

He held up his hands. “I waited.”

“To be honest I thought Captain Sisko would have tossed you in the brig along with him.”

“So did I. Apparently the captain had other plans for me. Are you going back to the bridge?” he asked.

Kira shook her head—it turned into a yawn before she could stop herself. It had been one hell of a day. “My bunk, if no one else stops me before I get there.” She glanced over her shoulder, and then lowered her voice and said, “Are you thinking of joining me?”

“Apparently we don’t have to be quite so circumspect,” Damar said. “But... if you’ll have me.”

Kira couldn’t hold back a small smirk. She knew Damar had also seen it. “What did you really come down here for? I know it wasn’t just to chat and trade innuendos.”

“It was... _suggested_ that I should apologize for my earlier outburst.”

They walked side-by-side, headed in the direction of the nearest turbolift. “I thought that was part of your heroic charge into the fray. Did you have something else to apologize for?”

He cleared his throat, and attempted to cover his unhappy frown by looking away. “A better apology,” he corrected. They stepped into the turbolift together. “Better than one given at the last moment, under threat of death. And without a thought for how I might have hurt you.”

Alone in the compartment, Kira turned and slid her arms around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him lightly. “Your last apology was _fine_ ,” she reassured him. His arms came around her waist to wrap her in an embrace, and he kissed her back. When they parted again she said, “I can’t say I approve of your timing, but the rest was nice.”

“Even the phaser fire?”

Kira bit her lip. She pretended to give it some thought. “Well, maybe we could work on that for next time,” she said after a few seconds. “I could think of one or two better places.”

Damar looked skeptical. He craned his neck back to look at her. “I can only think of one.”

She patted his shoulder. “You have absolutely no imagination.”

 

  
*

 

  
“‘ _Parlan Kren, Hero of Cardassia,_ ’” Damar read aloud. He could barely contain his grin as he scanned the article for the most relevant excerpts. Whoever had written it deserved some sort of commendation. Perhaps he could arrange that before he officially stepped down. “‘ _Once a Gul in the Eighth Order,_ ’” he continued, “‘ _Kren has distinguished himself time and again, both on the battlefield and more recently in the political arena. With tireless dedication he has shown himself to be much more than a soldier—he is a man of great conviction, sure action, and_ unparalleled _patriotism._ ’ This part is my favorite,” he noted, pointing to the end of the next paragraph. ‘ _Could this man of relentless determination be a successor to the ailing Legate Damar?_ ’ I don’t know how I feel about _ailing_ , but the rest is remarkably, insightful. This line, for instance—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Kren grumbled. He crossed his arms over his large chest and turned toward the empty wall of the office. Damar couldn't recall ever seeing him so uncomfortable. It was fantastic. “They make me out to be some sort of… mythical figure,” he complained.

“So you _have_ read it.”

The frown that earned him did not discourage Damar’s satisfaction even a little. Waving his hand in the air, as though he could conjure up an image of his larger-than-life likeness, Kren went on. “I did my duty, that’s all. We can’t keep promoting heroes to leadership. There aren’t enough of those around to rely on.”

Damar was back to skimming the article. “I’m sure you’ll give them plenty of reasons to doubt your infallibility while in office,” he muttered at the padd.

“I saw you provided quotes.”

“Only two or three.”

“Five,” Kren pointed out humorlessly.

“Six, actually.” Damar looked up. He cocked another grin at the older Cardassian. “They weren’t able to use the last one.”

Kren scowled at the padd when Damar held it out for him to take. “I’m surprised they were able to secure an interview with you. No one told me about it.” Damar waggled it back and forth a few times and Kren snatched it away with an annoyed sigh.

“Oh, I volunteered.” There was a beep from the companel behind him, and Damar stepped down from where he had been sitting on the corner of the desk. Kren remained in his chair, still tucked in on himself, still staring off into the middle distance and frowning. “Go ahead,” Damar answered.

It was quick business, and he was off the channel again before Kren could conjure up another objection to the sudden wealth of praise he had received from the press. “I should give you a medal,” Damar mused as he sat down in his own seat.

“Don’t you dare.” Kren jammed his thumb against the padd to shut it off and tossed it back onto the top of Damar’s desk. “Not that I’m anxious to change the subject, but are you going to the signing?”

“I don’t plan to, no.”

“Why not?”

Damar leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. He idly wondered where he’d picked up the habit. It put him in mind of Captain Sisko now, and he didn’t like that at all. “I can think of a few reasons, but the best is probably that the Bajorans don’t want me there. I’m a Cardassian, I have no business attending.”

Kren nodded slowly, pretending to consider Damar’s excuse. “Right. So, that communique from Shakaar—‘ _Legate Damar, I would be honored if you would attend the ceremony for Bajor’s entry into the United Federation of Planets,_ ’ signed, ‘ _Shakaar Edon, First Minister of Bajor_ ’—that was too vague for your liking, too indirect?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I may be off by a few words, but that was the general idea. You’ve been invited to attend.” Kren uncrossed his massive legs and sat forward. “Bajor was accused of plotting to destroy us less than a month ago. It would go a long way toward easing the tension from that incident if you were present in support when Bajor signs the charter. That’s the reason he asked you to be there.”

Damar snorted. “The invitation was nothing more than a polite formality.”

“No one invites rain to a sunny day unless there’s a drought. I’ll have Gul Anatra prepare the _Ranat_ for departure.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Damar demanded.

“It means you should pack for your trip to Deep Space Nine. Maybe plan to stay a while; I’m sure Doctor Bashir will find some reason to keep you around once you’re there. He always does.”

The decision being made for him—yet another in a long series, so far—rankled Damar. He found himself feeling petulant, and not at all ashamed of it. “I have business here.”

“You have a wife there.”

Damar made a vague gesture with one hand. “Unofficially. And she’s on Bajor.” When Kren looked at him curiously, he clarified, saying, “A sizeable portion of the Bajoran Militia will be absorbed into Starfleet, apparently. She’s assisting with the creation of a curriculum meant to bring their military forces up to speed on various Starfleet customs and regulations.”

“You know more about her business than what you’re doing here.”

“I pay attention when the woman I love tells me something. Is that a crime?” Damar asked hotly.

Kren shook his head. His smile was more infuriating than his constant presumption. “No crime,” he said. “But I’m sure she’ll return to the station for the signing, at least. That gives _you_ a reason to be there.” He slapped his palms down on his thighs as he made to stand up. “And it gives _me_ a reason to request separate quarters,” he added.

Damar frowned. He didn’t bother to remind Kren that it was pointless to request separate quarters; it wasn’t as if he and Kira could spend any sort of meaningful time together. He had been to the station twice for treatment since Thomas Riker’s apprehension, and on both occasions he had spent most of his time with Bashir. Not exactly an ideal scenario for anyone involved.

“Perhaps you should attend the signing with me,” Damar said as Kren reached the door. “After all, you are the new Hero of Cardassia.”

Kren stopped halfway through the door. “In that case,” he said, rapping his metal knuckles against the doorframe, “I’ll request _bigger_ quarters.”

 

  
*

 

  
A small contingent of children ran past Kira. One ducked around her to catch up with his friends as they sprinted ahead down the Promenade. She laughed and watched them go. Everyone was in a good mood, and she was certainly no exception. Even Shakaar, who ducked out of the signing ceremony the very second he was able, had somehow managed to get himself caught up in the festivities. The last she’d seen of him he had been trading battle stories and sharing drinks with the station’s new Klingon liaison. Captain Sisko had called her to the briefing room regarding a communique from Earth after that, but she was sure she’d see the results of his first experience with blood wine later that evening.

There were parties taking place all over the station, and everyone was eager to be a part of welcoming Bajor to the Federation—even those who weren’t part of the Federation themselves. It seemed like everyone was there, and everyone wanted to celebrate.

Of course, Damar had also been present at the signing, standing off to the side and nearly hidden in the shadow of Kren’s bulk. Kira assumed he hadn’t wanted to attend at all, but found himself forced by Kren, and probably going along with it only in the hopes of seeing her. She planned to surprise him later with news that she had taken a short leave of absence from the project down on Bajor. Three days. If Julian didn’t corral him in the Infirmary for too much of that, they might actually manage something like a real visit for once.

She also planned to discuss some other news. News she wasn’t exactly sure she could classify as _good_ —at least, maybe not from his perspective. She found him standing on the upper level of the Promenade, above the Bajoran shrine, while she was still deciding which to tell him first.

“There you are,” she said, smiling at the scowl that meant he was deep in thought. “I assumed you’d be back in your quarters by now.”

“Kren,” was all Damar said to that.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t have your own quarters, there just wasn’t any room left. The entire station is full. You’re lucky you two didn’t wind up sharing a bed.”

Damar grimaced like he had tasted something sour. “I have more than my fair share of nightmares already,” he said, shaking the thought from his head with an exaggerated shudder. While Kira laughed, he took the opportunity to give her a lingering and not-so-subtle look. When she caught his eye he smirked and said, “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you in that uniform.”

Ahead of the first round of commissioned officers, Kira had already made the permanent change into her Starfleet uniform. It was the same one Garak had made for their mission to aid Damar’s rebellion during the war. The uniform that had been intended to shield her from some of the hatred and mistrust of the Cardassian soldiers. In the end she had never really been sure it did any good at all. At least, she thought privately, Damar seemed to appreciate it now. If what he’d told her since was true, probably back then, too. Though she was sure that at the time he would have preferred death over ever letting her find out. That was probably for the best—their already shaky alliance might have ended very differently if she had.

“Another lifetime,” she agreed, biting her lip to hide a smile.

“Kira.”

She held up her hands in mock-surrender. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Do you have anywhere to be?” she asked. When Damar pointedly half-turned in the direction of the nearest turbolift, she added, “Do you have some time to _talk?_ ”

“Here?”

Kira looked around. No one was paying them any mind at the moment, but they might start to attract attention if they lingered for too long. Especially if he didn’t take the news as well as she hoped. “Let’s walk,” she said.

It wasn’t until they had completed a circuit of the upper level of the Promenade that they finally made their way down to the lower level. It was quieter there in places, with the Infirmary and the shrine more somber, even in the midst of all the celebration. For once she thought she actually _liked_ the noise. After all, who could have guessed it would be like this when it finally, really happened? She found herself smiling again.

“You’re happy,” noted Damar. He seemed genuinely pleased by it, which she supposed wasn’t all that surprising.

“Of course I am!” she said. “I think—” She stopped, and Damar stopped beside her. “I think, deep down, some part of me thought it would never happen. But here we are. I guess I was wrong.” She nodded her head and started to walk again. “I’m _glad_ I was wrong.”

“That’s good.”

Kira glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“I meant—it’s good that you’re satisfied with the outcome.” He was quiet for a moment, and then he added, “Also that you were wrong. It’s refreshing to know that it can still happen occasionally.”

She laughed, and said, “You really are a sore loser.”

“I am,” he agreed easily.

They continued their stroll, passing between the spiral staircase back up to the second level and Quark’s. The raucous sounds from within were only loud so long as the wall wasn’t separating them from the chaos. When they found themselves back in a more private part of the Promenade, Kira decided it was finally time to broach the subject she’d been avoiding since she left the briefing room earlier. “Damar, I need to talk to you about something.”

He turned just enough to look warily at her. His pace slowed a bit.

 _Now or never_ , she told herself. It was to think that; she couldn’t just keep it to herself, there was no _never_. He needed to know. It would affect them both, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really his problem. Maybe she could have kept it to herself if it had happened a few months earlier, but a few months earlier he hadn’t asked her to marry him. She lifted her arm and grasped her wrist, covering—or holding—the bracelet. Overthinking it wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

“Kira?” Damar had stopped walking. It was only when she heard him that Kira realized she hadn’t. He was a few paces behind her, and he caught up quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He was worried. He had every reason to be.

She licked her lips and took a deep breath. _Stalling,_ a voice in the back of her mind scolded. _Stop stalling. It isn’t fair to either of you._

“Damar, I’ve been asked to represent Bajor on the Federation Council,” she said, letting the words come mechanically. “They want me on Earth as soon as possible to prepare before the new session convenes. If I say yes, the starship _Paragon_ will take me with them when they stop at the station on their way to Vulcan in a few weeks. The trip between Vulcan and Earth is short,” she said, lifting her shoulders a little, “I can find my own way from there.” She was aware that her voice had grown quieter, her tone softer, until the last word seemed to evaporate altogether.

Kira could see the host of emotions that crossed his face as he absorbed what she was saying: surprise; confusion; fear; and to her astonishment, something she thought looked a lot like pride. That gave her hope, but his lack of response tempered it with worry.

“It would be a chance to directly influence the way the Federation handles matters that affect Bajor. Not just Bajor,” she added, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence, “but the entire _sector_ —Cardassia, the station, the wormhole… This is an opportunity I don’t know if I can afford to ignore, Damar.”

She had expected him to remind her what she would have to leave behind to do it, or to get angry, or even demand that she stay. But he still hadn’t spoken. She shook her head—not at him, but at her own compulsion to keep talking until he actually _said something_. “I know there’s still a lot to do here—we haven’t even finished setting up the training schedule for the new personnel on Bajor. But plenty of people can do what I’ve been doing there. Most of the instructors are either Starfleet themselves or they’ve been working with Starfleet as long as I have. I could even continue to advise on the project from Earth. This is important.” She held up her hands, trying to think—trying to find some way to make him understand how much she _needed_ to do this. In the end, she decided the simplest way was probably the best. “I need to go,” she said finally, wrapping it all into those four short words.

She didn’t want to leave him. They had come so far, and gone through so much. But she would if she had to, and realizing that was just as painful as the thought of going alone. She almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation actually was. There was a time in her life when she would have given anything to be rid of him. It didn’t seem that long ago, in fact. The Prophets really had some sense of humor; had they brought the two of them together only to pull them apart again so soon?

If this was where it ended, she would accept that as their will. But it frightened her how much she desperately hoped she wouldn’t have to.

Damar shifted, he looked past her, over her shoulder and into the middle distance. He took a breath and let it out again as he pursed his lips and shifted in place. Finally, after what felt like several long minutes, he said, “Alright.”

“Alright?”

He was still looking over her shoulder when he repeated, “Alright. I won’t be able to join you for several months, perhaps even longer depending on how much Kren drags his feet. But if you’re willing to wait—”

“Damar?”

He stopped and looked at her. “Yes?”

“Are you saying—” She couldn’t have heard that correctly. There had been a misunderstanding, maybe, or he was confused. “I’m talking about going to _Earth_ ,” she repeated. “For good. To _live_ there.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I gathered that much.”

They were near the shrine, and Vedek Lanta’s special service had ended almost an hour earlier. There was hardly anyone around anymore. Kira reached out and took Damar’s wrist in her hand, dragging him off toward the steps leading up to the rounded arch and the dark, solemn interior of the shrine. He sputtered and protested, but only put up a token attempt to pull himself free. When she had him inside and out of sight of the Promenade, she pressed him against the wall of a dark corner and held him there, her body pressed against his from shin to shoulder. The thick, dark blue and gray fabric of his jacket was twisted up between her fingers.

“Are you serious?” she demanded. Despite the position of their bodies, there was nothing suggestive about her question or the look she was giving him. If he was joking—

Well. She wouldn’t kill him, but she might come pretty close.

“Of course I’m serious!” He pushed her back a step and gripped her shoulders tight. “When I beamed down to that chamber I was ready to die with you, if necessary,” he said, his voice pitched low and his gaze intense. “Don’t you remember? If I would follow you there, why wouldn’t I follow you to Earth? I would follow you _anywhere_. I _love you_ , Nerys.”

Kira found she couldn’t say anything, even though she desperately wanted to. All she could do was look back at him as he stared into her eyes.

She had always known it, of course. Since the first night they spent together, wrapped in each other’s arms, she had known he’d already fallen in love with her. She knew it when he told her they should end it that morning on Cardassia, and she knew it when he was standing in front of her on the _Defiant_ , venting all of his helplessness and anger onto her because she was the safest place to let it go. Even if he hadn’t been aware of it himself. She knew, and she hadn’t been surprised when he had beamed down to the surface after her— _because_ she knew. But somehow, despite all that, she never really thought he would be willing to go with her. He had to know that it would mean leaving everything behind. If he followed her, his old life—the life he lived as a war hero and a leader—would be over. It was something she had come to terms with for herself, but it wasn’t something she had ever really imagined he would be able to accept.

In her heart, she had believed she would go to Earth alone. His easy acceptance of the fact that she _wouldn’t_ had thrown all of her expectations out of the nearest airlock. She was so stunned that she didn’t even register that he’d actually used her given name until he pressed his forehead to hers, murmuring it over and over like some sort of plea. His hands came up to cup the sides of her face and his fingers brushed her hairline. He didn’t stop speaking her name until she kissed him. Until his lips were too busy to form any words at all. She pulled at his jacket, trying to wrap herself around him, to get closer somehow, but there was no space left between them to close. Even when she broke the kiss she couldn’t seem to let him go; she mouthed at the curve of his ear, his neck, and the ridges that disappeared below the dark blue collar of his jacket.

When they finally had the sense to stop themselves, Kira tucked her face into the soft underside of his neck and leaned her entire body against his. She felt him take a deep breath and let it out again slowly, as if he was only just becoming aware of what it would mean for them. Of what they could be together, so far from where they had started. “So,” she whispered, giving him a gentle squeeze, “Earth.”

He nodded against the top of her head. His fingers drew meaningless patterns on her back, and his other hand held her close. “Wherever you go,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! There is an epilogue after this to wrap up a few loose ends and give everyone a chance to say goodbye. It's mostly written, so probably look for that by the beginning of next week.


	12. Epilogue

“Two whole weeks, huh?” Ezri asked. She tried to hide a sly smile behind her glass.

“It was sort of a last minute decision,” Kira said. “The timing could have been better, but I only had three weeks’ notice that I was going to Earth to begin with. As it is I’m going to be spending tonight packing the last of my things.” She narrowed her eyes, pretending to give the matter some thought. She asked, “Didn’t Jadzia and Worf get married in only a few _days?_ If I remember correctly—”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. Anyway, given the record for some of the people on this station, two weeks to plan a wedding is actually a pretty long time.”

“Felt like two years,” Kira muttered. She frowned down at the glass in her hand when she recalled some of the more trying moments during the days leading up to the ceremony.

“Damar wanted things to be different?”

Kira shook her head and mouthed _no_. “Damar didn’t want to do it at all—oh—” she interrupted herself, explaining, “he wanted to get married. He just didn’t want to have anyone there when it happened.”

That piqued Ezri’s endless curiosity. She moved in closer and lowered her voice to ask, “Why? Was he trying to hide something?” It was so much like Jadzia that it left Kira feeling profoundly sad until she was able to wrap up the thought and set it aside. Luckily Ezri didn’t seem to notice. “Is he still worried about exposing your relationship?”

“No, I think we’ve both come to terms with that happening sooner or later. Especially since this—” she gestured to the general gathering around the room, “—means that anyone who bothers to look will be able to find the records to confirm their suspicions. But Kren’s appointment is public knowledge now, so no one on Cardassia is giving Damar much thought for the time being. Which he’s happy about.” She shrugged the arm not holding her wine glass. “And it’s not like I have my career in the Bajoran Militia to worry about anymore.”

“Still, it must have been frustrating, having to keep it a secret for so long.”

“Only because it was never anyone’s business to begin with.” She paused. Across the room, Damar was trying to slowly move away from Jake and Julian, who seemed oblivious to his attempts to escape. So far he had only succeeded in trapping himself in the corner between them. “Although, I guess it wasn’t really unexpected,” she said.

“So, what were his other complaints?” Ezri asked. “I’m sure he had a few, based on what I know of him.” She hadn’t noticed the silent drama unfolding across the room, or Kira’s amusement watching it.

When she turned back Ezri was still waiting expectantly. She really did enjoy gossip a little too much. That had to have been something else she picked up from Jadzia, Kira thought. “Well, the biggest was who would officiate.”

“Shakaar wasn’t your first choice?”

Kira shook her head. Shakaar had reluctantly agreed to perform the ceremony, but only after she had twisted his arm about it. In fact, the first time she brought it up he had almost cut the channel before she could even finish explaining _why_ she was asking. “I wanted the captain to do it,” she explained. Then, doing her best impression of Damar and his naked disdain, she said, “ _‘Your Emissary of the Prophets has presided over enough of my life already.’_ He said he’d rather call it off than have the captain marry us.”

“I bet you were pretty angry about that.”

“No. Well, yes,” she admitted, “at first. But after discussing it—”

“And by _discussing_ you mean _arguing_.”

“After arguing about it, I decided to compromise and let him pick. It seemed only fair. Everything else about the ceremony was going to be Bajoran.” She laughed and added with a tilt of her head, “I don’t think it occurred to him that asking Shakaar do it didn’t really change that. To be honest, I’m not sure he cared; I think he just doesn’t trust the captain anymore.” She finished the last of her own drink and set the glass on a nearby table to be picked up by one of the waiters.

Quark had eagerly catered the whole event, and supplied staff for the occasion as part of the service. It was her understanding that Kren had covered Quark’s ridiculous fee as a wedding gift. She only caught some of the aftermath, but apparently the negotiations regarding the total for his services had been… intense. From what she’d been told, the showdown made the bickering between her and Damar look tame by comparison.

“So he chose Shakaar?” Ezri prompted when Kira didn’t continue right away.

“Mhm. And Shakaar will probably never forgive him for it.”

Ezri laughed at that, and Kira smiled too, despite it being a reminder of Shakaar’s resulting twenty minute lecture on the reasonable limits of friendship. She watched from the corner of her eye as Damar finally escaped the unwanted conversation. He made a beeline for where she was standing with Ezri. “I had forgotten that Jake Sisko is a _writer_ ,” he complained, sneering the last word like it was an epithet. “Like any good writer he is in love with the sound of his own voice. I’ve never known anyone who could dwell on one subject for so long without running out of something to say.” He glared at the two men over his shoulder. “Excluding Doctor Bashir, anyway. Being trapped with both of them…”

Kira gave his arm a pat. “It’s okay, you got away.”

“Barely.”

“I didn’t mention it before,” Ezri said, changing the subject, “but I think you two look great. You even match.”

Kira thanked her, but Damar only looked over at Kira’s green dress and then down at his own black and red jacket. “I’m wearing the same sort of clothing I always wear,” he said.

She pointed to the orange patterned cloth hanging around his neck and down the front of his jacket. “Well, you do have that nice Bajoran stole.”

Damar touched the thick, brocade fabric with his fingertips. “It isn’t a _stole_ ,” he said, more to himself than to Ezri. He plucked at the fringe on the end and frowned at Kira. “You said this was traditional.”

She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “It is.”

“Worf!” Ezri called out to Worf’s back, looming nearby. He turned from the window to acknowledge at her with nod, and then sighed when he realized she expected him to come over and join them. Damar was still unhappily examining the stole. He shot Kira a wary glance when Worf appeared at his side.

“Was there something you needed?” Worf asked bluntly.

Ezri waved a hand at him and said, “Not me, Worf. You’ve been staring out that window since the ceremony. Don’t you have anything to say to Kira and Damar?”

Kira couldn’t help a smile at Worf’s expense; he was uncomfortable at parties even when he _liked_ the people attending them. Being expected to celebrate the marriage of a friend was one thing, but throwing in someone who had once been his enemy and actually held him prisoner must have made him wish he hadn’t taken an extended leave for the signing after all. She couldn’t imagine how Ezri had roped him into coming.

Worf turned to her and said, “Congratulations. May you have much happiness in your future.”

Coming from Worf, that was practically a hug. “Thanks, Worf,” Kira said. “We’re glad you could be here.”

But Ezri obviously expected more. “ _And?_ ” she prompted, staring up at him.

Worf glared down at her defiantly. Like a living statue, he held his ground for what Kira thought must have been two or three very uncomfortable minutes, until Ezri’s pinched pout finally wore him down. He turned slightly toward Damar and said, “Your recitation of formal Bajoran marriage vows was admirably executed. For a Cardassian.”

Damar nodded his thanks for the compliment.

Ezri nudged Worf in the side with her elbow.

Worf sighed at her. He added, “I am certain that you and Colonel Kira will be very happy together, and it is perhaps fortunate that I did not kill you when I had the opportunity.” He glanced quickly between the three of them. “If you’ll excuse me.”

They watched him go—and they watched him veer toward the door, only to be waylaid by Captain Sisko.

“He really means it, I’m sure,” Ezri said, still watching Worf as the captain effortlessly dragged him over to where Kren and Nog were standing. “He just doesn’t like parties.”

Damar nodded. “We have that much in common.” He thought for a moment and added, “And I am also grateful that he didn’t kill me.”

 

 

*

 

  
“There is a meeting with Kerr and Yela of the Ferengi Commerce Exchange next week. Kerr is a lazy idiot, but you must keep an eye on Yela. She’s a cunning negotiator. If you don’t watch yourself, before you know it you’ll have sold her the entire Cardassian Union at a thirty percent margin. I could return from the station if—”

“I can handle it, Damar.”

Kren’s interruption somehow caught them both off guard, and for a moment neither one knew what to say to the other. Kren let his fingers play idly across the different objects set out upon the desk—his desk now, of course. Damar watched him for a few seconds before casually turning to look at something on a nearby shelf that hadn’t really caught his eye. The silence in the room was obvious, and uncomfortable.

After some time had passed, Kren cleared his throat and asked, “Is there anything—have you left anything here that—”

“No,” Damar said quickly, sparing him from having to ask the question. The entire situation was awkward enough as it was. “Your assistant has seen to all of it. The last of my things were sent up to the _Defiant_ this afternoon.”

“Kind of them to offer you a ride. I suppose this means I’ll be traveling exclusively aboard the _Ranat_ from now on. It’s a shame, those Starfleet vessels are pretty comfortable once you get used to them.”

“It helps that they aren’t held together with emergency patch welds and the optimism of young engineers,” Damar pointed out. “Although, you may find yourself summoned aboard the occasional Starfleet vessel now and then. You may not be bound by the same leash I was, but you’re still beholden to their generosity for the time being. They tend to expect… a great deal of initiative, when it suits them. But perhaps you’ll be luckier than I was, and your troubles will keep you closer to home.”

Kren smiled. “Well, given your tendency to attract trouble, I’d wager that’s a certainty. No one is out for my blood.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Damar reminded him. After a moment he smiled ruefully said, “You’ll need to find someone to handle your security. Someone stubborn, I’ve found, seems to work best.”

Kren’s wry smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’ll find someone,” he said.

Overcome by his gratitude and the sentimentality he had tried to shake so many times before, Damar was struck with the urge to thank Kren for all he had done, all he had endured, and what he was even now doing for Cardassia. Instead he reached out a hand. “I expect I’ll hear of great things from you in years to come, Legate Kren.”

“Do _not_ start them calling me that,” Kren groaned. He extended his own hand, grasping Damar firmly by the forearm.

“They’ll have to call you something.”

Kren let go and made an unhappy sound. “I can have you formally exiled now, you know. Something to keep in mind.”

“You certainly wouldn’t want that,” an unnervingly familiar voice spoke up from behind them.

Kren and Damar both looked to the open doorway, where none other than Garak stood. He was leaning against the frame with his hip cocked, leisurely observing the scene before him. “Believe me,” he continued, wholly unperturbed by the shock of the other two Cardassians. “I speak from experience on that particular subject.”

He appeared completely at ease, as always. That didn’t change when Kren leveled a disruptor in his direction. “How the hell did you get in here?!” Kren demanded.

Garak feigned a no doubt very practiced look of wide-eyed, innocent misunderstanding, and said, “The door.” He half-turned and pointed to the front of the manor. “That rather large one downstairs, to be more specific.”

“How—”

“Your security is somewhat… lax, if you don’t mind my saying. Ah, but please don’t misunderstand, I come by this unsolicited appraisal naturally; there was no attempt to stop my ingress between the front gate and the main door. Not to mention that quiet little fellow with all the data padds, who seemed particularly ill-equipped to handle unannounced arrivals.”

Larkan. He was Kren’s new assistant, and Damar’s last, as it turned out. The boy—and he was a boy, barely out of school—had only been part of Damar’s staff for a few weeks before his resignation. “If you harmed him,” Damar warned. He was cut off when Kren abruptly jerked him back, out of the line of fire.

“Oh,” Garak waved a hand, “ _Legate_ Kren’s secondhand assistant is quite well, I assure you. I have not harmed anyone within these walls. Nor beyond them, of course. Not for some time, anyway. You have my word.” He smiled placidly, glancing between them as though he expected them to do the same. When neither responded he reached a hand into his jacket.

“That’s enough!” Kren shouted. He lifted the disruptor a little higher, aiming for Garak’s head. To anyone but the tailor, it might have been a sufficient threat. Damar knew better.

When he pulled his hand back out of the jacket, Garak was holding nothing more than a standard issue Cardassian padd. “This is for you,” he said, holding it out to Kren. “As you appear to have no formal application process, I felt it best to deliver my _curriculum vitae_ in person. I it added a nice touch. Don’t you agree, Damar?”

It rankled him to hide behind Kren, but as he was currently unarmed, Damar was forced to cede to Kren’s advantage. He raised his chin in a pointless attempt to salvage some of his dignity. “I see you still prefer to speak in riddles, Garak.”

Kren had taken the padd from Garak, something Damar would have advised against, for all the good it might have done. He was still holding the disruptor, but his attention was on the screen as he used his thumb to scroll through the information it contained.

“Ah, no,” Garak said regretfully. “As much as I do love a good enigma, that—” he nodded to the padd in Kren’s hand, “—is quite _literally_ my application for employment. Nothing more cryptic or sinister than my own admittedly rather extensive life experiences.” He paused and added, “To our mutual disappointment, I am certain.”

Damar could hardly believe what he was hearing. “ _Application?_ ”

Before Garak could answer, Kren looked up from the padd. “This says you want to be my head of security.” He exclaimed, “You’re a killer!”

“Well, who better to guard your life than one who knows all the most effective ways to take it? I think you’ll find that I am more than qualified for the position.”

“You tried to kill me!” Damar shouted past Kren’s shoulder.

“In my defense, that was several years ago. I should think my failure and subsequent incarceration has made us even on that score. As humans are so fond of saying, I’ve paid my dues.”

“Several years?” Damar stepped closer to Garak. He was too furious to worry about his safety; Kren could just shoot past him if necessary. “Do you know what I have been through in that time? Because of you, I’ve been forced to renounce my position. I may die without regular treatment. You’ve disrupted my entire life!”

Garak smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said fondly.

“Excuse me?”

“Your early retirement. I imagine you’ll quite enjoy living on Earth with your wife. As I learned only too recently, humans are quite open-minded about such… unusual arrangements. And rather forgiving, too. Speaking of which, I must extend my apologies for missing the ceremony, but I was quite literally detained at the time. I can only hope you’ll enjoy this belated gift as an apology for my rudeness.”

“Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?” Damar asked. “If so, it isn’t funny.”

“I thought it was. Oh, come now, Damar. Can’t we simply leave this unpleasantness in the past and laugh at our fortunes together? How strange, how _capricious_  life is, that you and I should find ourselves here.” All the humor bled from Garak’s eyes, and his smile hardened to something cold and unwelcoming. “Alive,” he said flatly. And then in an instant he was back; Garak was ‘Garak’ again. “And both preparing to begin anew. You, departing for Earth with your beloved; me, facing the challenge of helping our dear leader Kren with his noble task of shoring up the empire. It’s quite poetic, I think.”

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” Kren asked. “I haven’t even decided whether or not to shoot you.”

“Fair point,” Garak agreed. “But I think if you had intended to shoot me, you would have done so already. In fact, I’d wager that you’ve hesitated to pull that trigger because you know exactly how useful I could be to your fledgling administration. Think about it, Kren: the last surviving member of the Obsidian Order, here, commanding your security, coordinating your intelligence. It’s quite a coup for you.”

Damar scoffed at Garak’s boast. “The Order wasn’t completely wiped out by the Dominion.”

“You are quite right. That’s why I took the liberty of doing it myself.” When he saw Damar’s shock, Garak added, “Oh, I wouldn’t mourn their loss if I were you, Damar. Any one of them would have been glad to put a knife in your back themselves, given the opportunity. And they might have succeeded. Creating opportunities is, after all, a basic skill possessed by most agents of the Order.” He paused. “Rather, it _was_.”

“Yet you were able to kill them? One man, alone?”

“I’m much better at it,” Garak said matter-of-factly.

“But you couldn’t kill me.”

He saw the glint in Garak’s eye, and instantly knew it for the deadly threat it was. “Not for lack of trying,” Garak said pleasantly. The smile never left his face, even if the cold and calculating emptiness had crept back into his eyes. “But in that, they would have had an advantage I didn’t possess. One that was to be my downfall, as it turned out.”

Curious despite himself, Damar made a gesture for Garak to continue.

“ _My_ reasons for wanting you dead were personal.”

Of course. That was no less than Damar should have expected. He was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him earlier. But in admitting as much, Garak had left an opening for him. One Damar couldn’t say for certain wasn’t intentional. He intended to take advantage of it regardless. “In that case, what’s to stop you from trying again?” he asked.

A small smirk tilted Garak’s mouth. “Could I offer you a heartfelt promise?” he asked.

Damar shook his head slowly.

“Well then, would it help if I told you that I came here by way of Deep Space Nine, and while I was there I had a very long, very... _intense_ conversation with Captain Sisko?”

Actually, that did ease his fears considerably. At least he could be reasonably sure Garak wasn’t going to come after him the moment his back was turned. The captain, for all his meddling, had a way of making his word final. “Fine. That covers me. But why should Kren trust you?”

“Kren—” Garak said, pointedly looking at the man in question, “—has no reason not to.”

There was a tense pause, and then Kren lowered his weapon. Damar gaped at him and pointed to Garak. “You aren’t just going to take him at his word, are you?”

Kren shrugged his good shoulder. “He didn’t kill me before.”

“ _Which_ before?” Damar hissed.

“Well,” Garak said, clapping his hands together loudly, startling both Kren and Damar. “This has all been incredibly exciting for my first day home, but I’m afraid my travels have left me somewhat weary. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see myself to my room and take a much-needed nap.”

Damar rounded on him. Every instinct told him not to test the limits of Garak’s promise to spare him, but he refused to obey. In the back of his mind he could practically see Kira’s disapproving scowl. “And just how would you know where _your room_ might be?” he demanded. “Did you have surveillance devices planted by your agents? Were you gathering information on our movements, even within these walls?”

Garak gave Damar a patronizing look and said, “Of course I was doing all of those things. Obsidian Order, remember?”

“How could I forget,” Damar snapped bitterly.

“My comment was intended to ensure you _don’t_.” Garak looked over to Kren. “With your leave?” he asked.

Kren drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment as he looked between Damar and Garak, and then blew it out again. “Go ahead.”

Damar couldn’t believe what was happening. “Kren!”

“Let me worry about it,” Kren growled, cutting him off before he could raise further complaint. “He’s better off here, where I can keep an eye on him.”

“A wise decision,” Garak agreed. His smug grin couldn’t have been more infuriating; he was like a child who had outwitted his peers and made off with the prize. Damar glared at him as he picked up his bag, which he had only just noticed was sitting on the floor at Garak’s feet, and bowed slightly before disappearing from the room.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Maybe. But I’ll regret it more if I set him loose without knowing where he is.” Kren reached back to the desk and set the disruptor in its drawer. “Right now you have a ship waiting for you, and a new life to begin.”

Damar couldn’t help a frown at the fondness he heard in Kren’s tone. “When you say it that way, it seems so final,” he said.

Kren only watched him for a moment, an unreadable look on his face. He asked, “Isn’t it?”

Damar wasn’t given an opportunity to answer; a transmission from the _Defiant_ in orbit came over the comm, reminding him of their impending departure. _“Legate Damar, we’re prepared to leave as soon as you’re aboard,”_ Nog said. It was the most polite he’d ever been that Damar could recall.

“I’ll be ready momentarily,” he replied.

_“Understood. Defiant out.”_

“Well,” Damar sighed, “I suppose there’s no need to linger. Especially now.”

Kren shook his head. “I’d say I’m sorry to see you go, but I think you’ve earned this.”

“Earned my early retirement, you mean?” Damar asked, cocking his head back to indicate Garak, skulking somewhere else in the manor.

“You certainly haven’t earned anything else,” Kren said. He gave Damar a single, heaving pat on the back, sending him stumbling forward a step. “But luckily she took pity on you anyway.”

Damar locked the urge to smile behind a more suitable frown—a pout, Kira would have called it—and tapped two fingers against his communicator. “Damar to _Defiant_ ,” he said, still shaking his head at Kren. “I’m ready to leave.”

  
\-----------

  
“This is a big day for you, I’m sure you’re as excited as I am,” Bashir announced as he came striding back into the room. He had been sharing his customary witty observations all morning as he went about making the small but frequent adjustments required for Damar’s treatment. The last, as it turned out; Damar would be departing for Earth in just three days, and the doctor had determined that there was no foreseeable need for further treatment before he left. Doctor Cursio, Bashir’s colleague at Starfleet Medical, would take over once Damar reached his destination.

“The end of an era,” Damar muttered wryly. He was sure he felt none of the humor Bashir apparently found in the situation. “Are you almost finished?”

Bashir chuckled to himself. “And here I thought you might wish to savor these last few hours we have together.” He plucked one of the neural regenerators from Damar’s head. “Nearly,” he answered. “Do you remember what I suggested during our last session?”

“Be more specific.”

“About Miles.” Bashir made a circular motion with one hand.

Damar obediently turned his head so that the doctor could remove the other device. “I have no intention of getting to know your _best friend_. And if anything you’ve told me about him is true, I surmise Chief O’Brien will only feel grateful for it.”

“Miles doesn’t know what he needs. He’s stubborn. Like you.”

“And you know?” Damar asked. “Or is this more wisdom from the man who once suggested I give Kira flowers?”

“How was I to know she would react so badly? Most women _like_ flowers!”

Damar shook his head. “I’ve never seen her so furious. Her silence was the worst part of it.” He stared at nothing for a moment, recalling that uncomfortable afternoon and the very lonely night that followed. His return to Cardassia that time had been a welcome reprieve. “And it was _your_ fault,” he snapped. With the treatment concluded, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stepped down. He had long since become accustomed to the brief but powerful wave of dizziness that overtook him at the conclusion of each session. It still never stopped him from trying to stand right away. Clutching the edge of the biobed behind him provided the stability he needed until it passed. “Forgive me if I find your credibility somewhat lacking.”

“I _am_ saving your life, you know,” Bashir pointed out.

“Well,” Damar said, unable to help his own smug grin this time, “not anymore.” The dizziness finally passed, and he pushed off from the bed to stand on his own.

“I will truly miss these sessions of ours, Damar. Do extend my apologies to Doctor Cursio.”

“Of course. Am I free to go?”

Bashir nodded at the data he was reading on a nearby screen. “You’re officially released. Oh—” He turned around abruptly. “One last question, actually. Am I correct in my understanding that Kren has appointed Garak head of security and intelligence for his administration?”

“Unfortunately.”

Bashir’s brows drew down into a narrow pinch. “You believe that he’s made a mistake?”

“Have all of you forgotten that Garak tried to kill me? Kill the Founder? Start another war?” Damar asked, holding his hands out as though addressing an entire audience, rather than just the doctor. “You are remarkably quick to forgive his sins.”

“I suppose we’ve learned to accept that as part of Garak’s... charm,” Bashir said with a shrug. “In the past his goals were frequently aligned with ours, so it’s been easy to look past his somewhat unorthodox methods of achieving them.”

“Unorthodox? You mean criminal.”

The doctor had crossed his arms, and he stood there, appearing to actually weigh the merits of what could only be characterized to Damar as Garak’s villainous behavior. “To us, yes,” he agreed, “and certainly what he did to you and Colonel Kira was wrong. What he _intended_ to do was reprehensible. But you of all people should understand that Garak is accustomed to operating within a sort of moral grey area. A fact you yourself have taken advantage of in the past. That certainly isn’t meant to excuse his behavior, of course,” Bashir added quickly when he caught Damar’s deepening frown. “I only meant that, like most Cardassians that I’ve observed, Garak is a creature of habit. His actions were wrong, yes, but hardly surprising. Surely you can sympathize with the imperatives that were impressed upon him during his time in the Order. I imagine shaking them would prove quite difficult.”

“I am intimately familiar with the shadow cast by the Order, Doctor. But that familiarity does not mean I feel sympathy for Garak, or accept the things he’s done in the name of protecting Cardassia.” Giving up leadership did not mean he had to give up his convictions, too; in his most practiced bureaucratic voice he declared, “I fear Kren’s decision may prove dangerous for everyone, but most of all for the Cardassian people, who have already suffered enough. The Union doesn’t need a return to the centuries it spent cowering under the watchful eye of state security.”

“How can you be sure that’s what Garak has in mind?” Bashir asked. He had turned back to the screen to continue his work.

Ignoring the urge to dismiss the question entirely—because what _else_ could Garak possibly intend—Damar instead answered honestly. “I can’t,” he said. “But isn’t the risk that he might return to his old ways sufficient reason to keep him away from a position of power?”

Bashir seemed to find that amusing. “I suspect, Damar, that he might have thought the same about you.”

 

  
\-----------

  
“I would ask you if you’re going to miss living here on the station, but I think we both know that you’re anxious to join your wife.”

 _Wife_. Damar still felt a strange thrill every time someone said that. It was strange because he had been married once before, and yet—despite the guilt that came with acknowledging his failure in that regard—he had never felt the same swell of emotion for her that he did for Kira. That marriage had been expected of him, and he’d done his duty, but he had never taken great pains to get to know his first wife. It was also strange because he was so accustomed to reminding others that he and Kira weren’t _really_ married. At least not officially. And usually only because Kren seemed so determined to weaponize Damar’s relationship with her to his own benefit in petty disagreements.

In truth, Damar had never really believed that Kira would be his wife in anything more than name. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed the idea of it only ever remaining a symbolic gesture, but he was resigned to it, and ready to live with the limitation. Then their decision to leave for Earth had changed all of that, and he was still trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of it all. He could still remember the rapid hammering of his heart as he stood in Moren Kael’s loft, soaking wet from rain and cold to his bones, and asked Kira to stay. He hadn’t really believed she would.

“Damar?”

Damar pulled his attention back to the present, and to Captain Sisko, who sat waiting for an answer. “Yes,” he said, struggling to recall the captain’s words. “I am looking forward to it.”

Sisko only smiled, but beneath it Damar could see the same look in his eyes that he’d come to dread since their first face-to-face encounter. The captain had something particular on his mind, and it was about to become Damar’s problem.

“It’s strange, though,” Sisko continued, confirming some hidden agenda, “how easily you agreed to go to Earth. I can’t help but wonder what made that choice so much simpler for you.” He said it casually, as though he didn’t really care about the answer. But Damar knew better than to think that; Sisko wouldn’t have mentioned it at all otherwise.

“Why is it strange?” he asked, rather than answering the captain’s obvious question.

Sisko shrugged lightly. “From what I understand, you were initially reluctant to give up your position on Cardassia, and even more so to relocate to the station. Doctor Bashir tells me you two also had a disagreement over his recommendations regarding your treatment. And yet, despite that, you didn’t put up a fight about relocating to an alien world seventy light years from your home planet. Why is that?”

To hell with decorum. Sisko was barely bothering to make his meaning vague. “Why do you ask?”

Genuine amusement flickered across the captain’s face for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to stoke Damar’s frustration to actual anger. “Just… curious,” Sisko said, spreading his hands wide.

The obvious answer, and the one that outweighed all of the others by far, was that he would have relocated to the Breen homeworld if Kira had asked him to. He might have complained, of course; expecting someone to uproot their entire life was a monumental request under any circumstances. But he had already decided that she was worth more than the comforts of home. More than anything. He felt no ambiguity about that.

But Damar once more found himself cornered by the captain’s uncanny ability to root out even the tiniest lies, and expose things he would have rather kept hidden. There were other reasons, and Sisko knew it.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? She was worth it. Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“Of course,” Sisko said, accepting Damar’s answer with a knowing smile.

That was far too easy for a conversation with Benjamin Sisko. Damar had never dealt with the man much before their conversation through his orb vision, but he was willing to bet that subterfuge had never worked very well with him, regardless of whatever prescience he’d gained since his time with the Prophets.

“Well, I suppose I ought to let you get going. Your ship will be leaving soon. You don’t want to miss it.”

“No,” Damar agreed. “Thank you for all your hospitality, Captain.”

Sisko nodded his acknowledgement. He stood when Damar turned to leave the office, but before the door could open, he said, “One more question—if you don’t mind.”

Damar turned on his heel, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. “Yes?”

“It’s just… something that’s been on my mind recently. I kept meaning to ask, and I’d hate to miss my chance now.” The captain was holding his baseball, and he waggled a finger at Damar as he switched it from one palm to the other. He did that when he was thinking, Damar had noticed. “On Derna, when you, Nerys, and the doctor were being held by Garak, the Founder spared your life.”

Damn it. Of course he knew. That he had waited two years to ask only indicated it was somehow related to the move to Earth. “Yes,” Damar repeated. He knew he sounded like a sulking child, but he couldn’t help it. If he never had to suffer Benjamin Sisko’s insights into his life again, he would consider himself lucky.

“Did she ever say anything to you, or explain _why_ she spared your life?”

Damar stood by the door, and Sisko waited patiently behind his desk. Across that short distance the two men stared at one another. Sisko, his expression one of utter patience, everything about him relaxed and patient; Damar, anxious and still simmering in his anger. That the universe had seen fit to grant Sisko so much power seemed unjust. It wasn’t jealousy that made it so infuriating; Damar certainly didn’t want the burden of that knowledge for himself. He just didn’t feel that anyone should be privy to the secrets of the future. Nothing was written—nothing was decided. That was what he wanted to believe, and it was what he had always been taught. But Benjamin Sisko threw it all out of balance, and Damar couldn’t understand why. Why was it necessary to reveal these small glimpses of understanding at such inopportune times?

“No,” he lied. He knew the captain could tell it was a lie. “She never said anything to me.”

Sisko raised his chin a fraction. He regarded Damar for a moment, and then he smiled again. “I see. Thank you.”

“Of course. Thank you again for all you’ve done. For me, and for Cardassia,” Damar said. He meant it sincerely, Sisko was owed that much, but the placid, patient expression remained, revealing nothing more of the captain’s thoughts than before. Damar cleared his throat and turned back to the door, exiting into Ops and breathing easy for the first time in what felt like hours. He quickly made his way to the turbolift.

If he had been honest with the captain, he might have told him that deep down, far below all the other reasons, there was a lingering cowardice within him that had all but jumped at the chance to go. To leave behind the part of space that had encompassed all of his greatest failures, mistakes, and worst nightmares. To escape the looming shadow of the wormhole, and the Dominion slumbering on the other side. He hadn’t needed the Founder’s whispered promise on Derna to remind him that he still had ample reason to fear what might come for him from the Gamma Quadrant.

There was also a significant part of him that was excited by the thought of going for his own selfish reasons. On Earth he would not only have the chance to live a life with the woman he loved, but he could do so openly, without fear of backlash. He could have what he had wanted for so long.

But although he had omitted all of those things when answering the captain, he hadn’t lied when he said that it was for Kira. Because even if he had no other reason to leave his home, his empire, and walk blindly into a future on a world he had never so much as seen before, she was reason enough. Next to her, nothing else mattered. Damar couldn’t help but wonder if that had been the reason behind Captain Sisko’s questions. Perhaps he had only wanted to remind him that everything else was inconsequential, and Kira was the only real reason for going.

It was possible. Damar wasn’t sure he wanted to give the captain that much credit. He also wasn’t sure it would matter whether or not he did, since Sisko seemed to know everything anyway.

Setting aside thoughts of anything but his impending journey, Damar instructed the turbolift to take him to the Docking Ring. His ship was waiting there, and it wouldn’t wait forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've had most of the scene between Damar, Kren, and Garak written and waiting for almost three years now, and I am so excited it's finally posted.)
> 
> Once again thank you for reading, and thank you for your patience. I don't usually write fics a chapter at a time, so this was an interesting experience and a good reminder _why_ I don't do them that way. I have a trio of short stories coming up in the next few weeks, and those will cover some of the time between this fic and the next, which is set roughly two years after this epilogue. (Get ready for some domestic living.)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, but if you guys get bored and want to chat about Star Trek or discover for yourselves just how much time I can waste doing absolutely nothing, you can always drop by [my tumblr](http://sedesla.tumblr.com/).


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